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FROI^C ^ REPORTER'S SCIRAF BoOK. 



BY 



Geo^ L. Catlin, 



1870. 






Entered according to act of Congress in the year 1870, by 

Geo. L. Catlin, 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern 
District of New York. 



^(^'^IL'^ 



(T 



i 






THE AMERICAN TRAVELER, 

Always restless, impatient, hungry, thirsty, sleepy, and anxious for something 

or other new wherewith to while away the tedium of a 

long journey — this book is respectfully 

inscribed. 



THE HALCYON'S RETURN. 



At break of day on an April morning the night express 
might have been seen dashing along fully on time toward 

the town of G , ten miles distant. On that day 

opened the spring meeting on the Goodstone Course, 
which annually summoned together the inhabitants of a 
circuit of a hundred miles or more. It was a clear bright 
morn, and as one by one the awakening passengers, 
throwing aside mufflers and robes and great coats and 
shawls, sat up, rubbed their eyes, and, brushing away the 
mist from the window panes, took in gradually the varied 
landscape, of dewy meadows, orchards, forests, farm 
houses and an occasional hamlet, and finally let their 
glance rest upon the bright grey dawn in the east, they 
thought, " 'Twill soon be day, and a fair day at that ; we 
must be near to G ." 

All phases of human character were represented in the 
half-waking, half-sleeping assemblage. 

There was the old miller who had his fifty barrels 
of fine wheat fiour on the freight car forward, and who, 
at an early hour that morning had given up his seat to a 



THE halcyon's RETURN. 



poor woman who had got on at a station where the train 
had stopped. He — good natiired sonl — had snoozed away 
the balance of the night on the top of some mail bags, and 
now, that morning broke, had returned to look up his 
overcoat and umbrella. But the poor woman was asleep 
and he wouldn't disturb her, he thought, until the train 
stopped. Then, on another seat away up forward were 

two young fellows all the way from H , collegians 

home for the spring holidays, and ready for any amount 
of roguery. Early in the evening they had been casting 
sheep's eyes toward two or three pretty young ladies of 

G , returning home from school under the charge of 

a very stupid old professor, who did nothing but nod and 
snore all the night long, leaving his i?L\r 2^Totegees to re- 
turn or repel the glances of the collegians as best they 
chose. But now, where these young ladies sat, it were 
difficult to determine, save by the presence of an auburn 
ringlet falling over the back of the seat, or by just the 
least little tip of a dainty foot visible on the floor below. 
They were sleeping soundly, these girlish, innocent crea- 
tures, little caring for the rollicking students, dreaming only 
of parents, brothers and sisters, who in an hour more would 
welcome them home again. 

A louder snore than usual from the professor was fol- 
lowed by a rough, coarse remark from somewhere about 
the center of the car, where until after midnight, a party 
of four men, all wearing jewelry and moustaches, and 



THE HALCYON S RETTJKX. 



quite elegantly dressed, had been playing cards, talking 
and laughing very loudly the while. But they, too, had 
finally sunk to sleep, and one of them, to tell the truth, 
had snored quite as loudly as the poor professor for 
awhile. But now they, too, were awake, and pulling out 
their watches expressed the opinion that the day would 
be a good one. 

A baby here began to cry vociferously near the rear end 
of the car, much evidently, to the embarrassment of the 
young father, who, with high hat awfully battered during 
the hours of sleep, took it from the mother's arms, vainly 
endea^voring by a series of gyrations and jumpings to 
soothe the infantile grief. The yelling was contagious. 
Four or five other babies, summoned by the cries of the 
first one back to this world of milk and merriment, in- 
continently set up a screaming which efiectually awoke 
every one, including the poor woman, who humbly 
thanked the kind miller for his overcoat, and handed him 
it with the green cotton umbrella he had left there. 

The school girls, awoke, too, looking pretty, though 
terribly in disorder, and laughed as they pinched the 
professor, tellino^ him it w^ould soon be time to ali2!"ht. 
The collegians ceased their ogling after the green glasses 
of the awaking protector had gleamed once upon them. 
The young I'ather once more resigned the screaming 
infant to its mother's care. The men with moustaches 
commenced to talk loud again, and lo — in that car but an 



THE halcyon's RETURN. 



half hour before full of insensible humanity, everybody 
was now awake save one. Raek-a-tack, rack-a-tack, clang- 
a-rang, clang-a-rang, incessantly went the wheels as the 
train dashed on to its destination ; but it was not until 
the cars gradually slackened their speed, as they neared the 
platform, and the portly conductor, with extinguished 
lantern, came passing upon feet accustomed to steadiness, 
through the car, and cried out in stentorian tones, " Fif- 
teen minutes for breakfast at G ," that a gray haired 

soldierly-looking man, who had been long awake, support- 
ing upon his shoulder some one sleeping enveloped in 
his great cloak, lifted that cloak, and bending his head, 
whispered gently : 

" Kate, my daughter, here we are." 

The busy manufacturing town of G , looking out 

upon an estuary of the sea, and overshadowed from 
behind by high, forest-clad hills, was remarkable for its 
beauty, its healthfulness, its prosperity. From daylight 
to dark on six days of the week, might be heard along its 
narrow, old-fashioned streets, the incessant clatter of 
machinery, the rattling of innumerable spindles, the 
screeching of whistles, the ringing of bells and all those 
busy sounds betokening a city of toil. Down at the 
wharves, great ships from the Indies, ( for once upon a 
time its trade with the Bahamas and Antilles was not in- 
considerable,) or from other foreign lands, lay moored, 
and all day long one might hear the "heave yo" of the 



THE halcyon's KETUEN. 



stevedore laboring away in the hold, or of the sailors toil- 
ing away at the capstan chains or spreading snowy sails 
as their vessel, outward bonnd, turned prow down toward 
the sea. But on the seventh day quiet and still were the 
streets, save when, from a dozen spires and belfries, rang 
out the church bells, and when simultaneously from 
hundreds of neat, cosy homes issued the inmates on their 
way to the places of worship. 

This, ^ then, was G , a prosperous, well regulated 

community, undisturbed the year round by hurtful ex- 
citements, connected daily with the rest of the world by 
three railroad trains, boasting three good hotels, a 
telegraj^h office and a morning newspaper ; and this was 
the town where, on the morning our story opens, the ex- 
press train, slackening its speed, came to a stop and dis- 
charged its now fully awakened passengers. 

It was early, yet the platform was full of people. How 
enviably at home these people always appear to be whom 
the traveler finds awaiting the train in any strange town 
where he may arrive. Hackmen and express agents pre- 
dominated, as usual, but beside these there were any 
number of people looking for expected friends. The 
pretty school girls found fathers and brothers to over- 
whelm them with kisses, while the professor stood stupidly 
by. A rough-looking mechanic, a little tipsy, gruffly 
thanked the portly miller for his kindness to the poor 
woman, his wife, and the father, with the dilapidated 



10 THE halcyon's RETURN, 

hat, liHiTied the baby and its mother off into an old 
fashioned country carriage that stood waiting for them 
behind the station. The students made a straight hne 
for the nearest hotel, the moustached men for a neighbor- 
ing ale house. And among the last of the passengers 
came the military-looking gentleman, his cloak buttoned up 
close to his throat, himself looking very stately and digni- 
fied as, supporting upon his arm a young girl, deeply 
veiled and in mourning, he handed her to a carriage, got 
in himself and said " To the Wilton House, driver." 

On this eventful morning, the whole tow^n had arisen 
early, and already the streets were alive with people. 
Tradesmen stood in their doorways rubbing their hands 
complacently, and promising themselves a brisk day. 
Horses and vehicles were never so numerous on the 
streets. Flags were flying in the public square and at 
different points along the principal thoroughfares. Here 
and there one met a jolly inebriate whose festivities had 
commenced early on the previous night. In short, for 

the nonce, all G seemed upside down with merry 

anticipation ; for had not four of the finest stables in the 
State arrived, and was not the coming sport spoken of by 
old Granis' the turf oracle of the town, as the greatest ever 
known in that section ? But it was at the hotels, in the 
ofiices where trunks and valises were piled up half way 
to the ceiling, and where the porters and waiters ran 
hither and thither in frantic haste, that the excitement 



THE HALCYON S RETURN. 11 

which had possessed the town became most apparent 
The register at the Wilton House, a fonr-story brick 
building, facing directly npon the shaded square, showed 
already an arrival of three-score guests and over ; when 
amid the din, might have been heard the voice of the 
clerk, calling out in stentorian tones to the headwaiter : 

'^ Smith, are those rooms on the first floor ready for 
Major Loring?" 

" All ready, sir," was the reply bawled out over the 
shoulders of half a dozen. 

" Show him and his daughter up at once when they 
come," said the clerk. 

Just then came the rattling of wheels, a carriage drove 
up, and the military-looking gentleman alighting took his 
daughter's arm again in his, paid- the coachman, and the 
two, preceded by the waiter were ushered up stairs to the 
apartments engaged for them. There was a neat little 
parlor looking out upon the street, the window shaded 
with white lace curtains, the walls white and clean, the 
furniture complete, and the whole air of the room cosy 
and comfortable in the extreme. And off from the far 
end of it opened a door connecting with a darkened bed 
room, which in turn opened upon another, each of them 
newly made up from the chambermaid's hand, each telling 
of a tranquil repose. 

All this, father and daughter surveyed before a word 
was uttered. 



12 THE halcyon's RETURN. 

" Oh ! how nice everything is, isn't it father ? " ex- 
claimed she. I am sure we are doing much better than I 
had anticipated." 

The kind paternal face relaxed into a smile, as it looked 
down into hers. 

" There, my darling," said the major, " that is the first 
good smile of happiness I have seen on yonr face for 
many a day. And go look in the mirror ; upon my word, 
the morning air has made your cheeks as rosy as I 
remember they used to be when you were a child, and I 
took you walking over the hills with me every morning 
before I went off for so long." 

" Ah, lather, I remember it so well, and how good 
you were, lifting me over the muddy places, and risking 
your dear old eyes among the briers to pick me the prettiest 
hedge roses. Papa, you were not old then. Xo indeed 
you weren't ; I can't realize that you are now. Do you 
know you have always looked the same to me, and al- 
wavs will — alwavs mv father, nothino- less F 

" Yes, yes ; I know it, Kate," said he, ** but these 
white hairs make me have strano:e thouo-hts sometimes," 
and with another fond look, and a good-natured laugh, as 
if to offset the tear which her dear words had called forth, 
the major threw aside his heavy cloak, took off" his hat 
and stood before the fireplace, a man tall, erect, fiorid of 
countenance though gray of locks, and scrupulously neat 
in dress withal, notwithstanding his jom-ney. 



THE halcyon's RETURN. 13 

"I have been thinking, Kate," said he, after a few 
moments, to his daughter, who was looking out upon the 
busy street abstractedly, " I have been thinking that 3^ou 
require rest. Now, lay aside your things, and let me leave 
you for a little while. You are tired, I know. I will 
ramble through the town for an hour or so, and be back 
in time to breakfast with you by 9 o'clock. 

She turned and came toward him. " Don't stay long, 
dear father," she answered, standing before him and 
looking up, "I don't feel as if I could sleep a bit. But 
order the trunks sent up, and I will have everything to 
rights when you return." 

" Oh ! you little puss, I know you too well to suppose 
you will be idle. Don't you recollect that one of the 
first promises your childish lips ever lisped was that when 
you grew older, you would sew the buttons on my coats 
and keep my book-case in order for me ? So now, bring 
me my cloak. I'll not be gone long, Kate." 

She brought what he asked, and kissed her father 
good-bye, as resuming once more his stateliness of bear- 
ing, he passed out along the hall and descended the stairs 
to the street. 

- II. 

" Why, Loring, is it possible," exclaimed a cheery voice, 
as the major, having called at the office to order the 
trunks sent up. sauntered leisurely ud the street. He 



14 THE halcyon's EETUEN, 

had been stationed in G many years before as- re- 
cruiting officer when he was a young lieutenant ; and the 
busy town, allowing for its growth and progress mean- 
while, was not this morning altogether unfamiliar to 
him. He was recalling with some interest the events of 
his younger days passed here, when suddenly the friendly 
voice addressed him ; and turning, he saw a middle aged 
individual, stout and short of stature, with rubicund, 
smooth shaven face, a merry twinkling eye, hair just 
turning the least bit grey, and hand extended to greet him. 
The major surveyed him from head to foot. He saw a 
dapper little man dressed in a black- suit, scrupulously 
brushed, with silk hat, smooth and shiny, with boots 
brilliantly polished, with shirt bosom immaculate, and a 
standing collar so remorselessly starched that it had, even 
at that early hour, irritated the fat folds of the wearer's 
neck to a fiery redness. This good-natured, comfortable 
little man wore kids, one of which was upon his left 
hand, holding the other, as he extended his ungloved 
right in salute. '' Why, old friend, don't you know me?" 
said he. 

The major looked hard at him the while, and the play 
of his handsome features, as recognition gradually came 
with the glance, was worthy of a painter. "Why," said 
he, grasping the hand offered him, " as I live, this must 
be my old friend Tom Sparrow," and as the little corpu- 
lent man in black, overjoyed by the recognition, only 



THE halcyon's RETURN. 15 

shook the major's hand with redoubled vigor, the greeting 
became a most emphatic one, and the two looking into 
each other's faces, forgot in the pleasure of their re-union 
all the changes time had wrought thereon. 

" I knew 'twas you," said the little man, — "was walking 
with my wife on the other side, two squares below when 
I spied you ; wife was going to see about a birthday 
present for Jack, our oldest boy; Jack is eighteen 
to-morrow ; just got home frorn college this morning. 
Well, I saw you ; said I to wife, ' There's Bob Loring, by 
Jove,' and oflP I darted. She begged me to stop. ' Tom,' 
said Mrs. S., ' 3^ou are forever running off on wild goose 
chases after people, and making such ridiculous mistakes.' 
' Nonsense wife,' said I, ' its Bob Loring, or I'll lose my 
next case,' so off I hurried after you, leaving estimable 
Mrs. Sparrow to wait my return. Come now, come with 
rae» Loring, 111 introduce you." 

The dignified major felt the little short fat arm locked 
with his, and himself hurried off' at a rapid gait, laughing 
at his companion's good natured loquacity. 

'^ And now tell me dear old friend, how has time dealt 
with you since we parted?" asked the latter, as he 
hastened with the captive major to join his spouse. 

"The old story, Tom," replied Loring, "losses and 
gains, pleasures and pains. I have traveled some, seen 
a great deal of active service, and am now on the retired 
list. I've got a confounded Mexican bullet, fired at 



16 THE halcyon's RETURN. 

Yera Cruz, in my left shoulder to this day, and can 
assure you I feel it on crisp mornings such as this." 

'^ And your family ? you married didn't you ? Seems to 
me I heard of your wedding, through that captain of 
yours who relieved you here." 

A shadow of gloom came over the major's countenance. 
" Yes," he answered, "*my boy Will is off on the plains, 
a lieutenant in the — th. Kate, my daughter, is here 
with me. My wife was — " 

"IS^ow, Mr. S.," interrupted a voice, as good natured 
as that possessed by the one addressed, " I do protest 
against desertion." 

" Not when I bring in such a prisoner, wife," replied 
the husband, letting go of the major's arm — " Mrs. Spar- 
row, let me, as the result of my wild goose chase, pre- 
sent my valued acquaintance. Lieutenant, ( no. Colonel, 
by this time, I suppose,) Robert Loring," and all three 
bowed, the major gallantly lifting his hat, laughing, and 
intei'posing '^ Major Loring, Tom." He extended his 
hand to a matronly, rosy faced lady, a feminine counter- 
part of her lord, who stood benignly stroking his chin 
with his left hand, and daintily holding the lapel of his 
coat with his right. 

" I am most happy, madame," said the major, '' to meet 
the wife of my friend of long ago. 

" And I feel that w^e are acquainted already, sir," she 
answered, " so familiar has your name become by my 



THE halcyon's RETURN. 17 

husband's frequent mention of the days when you were 

intimate. You are but a temporary visitor in G , I 

presume. May we not claim you as our guest ? " 

" I am accompanied by my daughter, and have taken 
rooms at the Wilton House," said the major, " I must 
therefore decline an invitation, which, were I alone, 
would only be too gladly accepted as an opportunity for 
recalling the memories of a happy past." 

" Bring her, too," interrupted the little man. " It will 
only make us the happier — I won't listen to a refusal." 

" I must positively decline," said the major, in a man- 
ner which, while kind and courteous, left no doubt as to 
its finality. 

'' At all events, major, you will accompany us with 
your daughter, to the races, this evening, and take tea 
with us afterward, won't you?" asked she, good 
naturedly. 

" With all. my heart, madame," was the reply. 

" We shall call for you at two, then," said Sparrow, 
pulling out from mere force of habit when any hour was 
mentioned, a huge gold repeater, which he was wont to 
say had belonged to his grandfather, who " fought the 
Hessians, sir. by Jupiter, and when thrown into their 
hands as a prisoner of war, had secreted it in his boot, 
sir, where it had remained, would you believe it, sir, 
until his recapture." All this he would have gone on to 
tell the major then and there, but that a touch on the 



18 THE HAICYONS RETURN. 

elbow made him pause. " At two, sharp, remember," 
he said — "splendid sport in prospect. I've entered a 
colt myself for the two mile dash. Good bye till then 
major," and as the matron bowed in departing, the 
happy little man bowed too and went sailing oif com- 
placently by her side, while the major, erect and digni- 
fied as ever, looked after them pleasantly as they went, 
and then noting the hour, turned his steps toward the 
hotel, where Kate, having fulfilled all her promises, by 
unpacking and setting matters to rights, was seated by 
the window awaiting her father's return. And when his 
measured step was heard along the corridor, a door flew 
open, a fair young face, shaded with golden ringlets, 
peeped out, a pair of soft blue eyes looked affectionately 
into his, and two rosy lips, upturned for welcome, ex- 
claimed : " Oh, papa, I'm so glad you have come. ]!^ow, 
ofl" with your hat and cloak. There," and suiting the 
action to the word, she unhooked the high collar, and 
threw off the cloak, reached up and lifted the hat from 
his head, hung them up in the bed-room, and pointing to 
a newspaper lying upon the chair where she had been 
sitting, said : " See here, papa." 

" What is it, daughter, tliat you have as a surprise for 
me ? I^othing bad about your brother, I hope — no more 
Indian fights, eh ? " said the major hurriedly. 

"IsTo. But see; read for yourself, father;" and she 
brought him the paper, putting her finger upon a 
paragraph. " What to think of it I hardly know." 



THE halcyon's RETURN. 19 

Young as she was, lie had since her childhood, ac- 
ceded to her every wish and opinion that respect which 
he felt alone could win her implicit confidence in return ; 
nor had his judgment been at fault. She made it her re- 
ligion to believe as he believed, to think as her father 
thought, to do as he did, and he in return had found 
growing with her years a discernment and common 
sense which had now come to be indispensable to him in 
his conclusions on any important subject. Father and 
daughter, mutual confidents, mutual advisers, neither of 
them felt that the counsels of the other could be spared, 
and so it was that when she eagerly brought him the 
newspaper and pointed out a paragraph in the ship-news 
column, telling him she was at a loss to know what to 
make of it, he well knew there was moment in the 
subject. 

There came just then a rap on the door : " Will Major 
and Miss Loring take breakfast in their own, or in the 
breakfast room ?" 

" Here," said Kate ; " for, papa, I want to have a good 
ta'ik with you on this subject and know what you think 
of it. Please serve breakfast here," she continued, ad- 
dressing the waiter. 

The door was gently closed and the major read : 

" By advices from New York received hj merchants in this place, we 
learn that the Europa arrived there yesterday from Liverpool after a 
stormy passage of fourteen days and ten hours. Her officers report 



20 THE HALCYON S RETritN. 



that on the 18th inst., while nearing the Banks they spoke the brig 
Halcyon, bound hither from Calcutta, but driven far out of her course 
by the heavy southerly gales which had prevailed for ten days pre- 
vious. All hands on board were well, and expressed themselves con- 
fident of being able to reach this port in safety. Among her passen- 
gers, also, her consignees here are informed, are three survivors of a 
vessel ( name not known ) lost eighteen months since in the Indian 
Ocean. The Halcyon's arrival may be daily looked for." 

All the while he had been reading, Kate, with anxious 
eyes, had been looking up into his face. When he came 
to the end, each for a moment looked doubtingly, in- 
quiringly, at the other. 

" Shall we — can we dare hope, father ?" she said. He 
thoughtfully, hesitatingly answered, smoothing the silken 
hair back from her forehead, " Why hope to be dis- 
appointed, my child ? I fear 'twould be hoping against 
hope. Could I but credit for one moment that your dear 
mother, surviving the horrors of that fearful night, were 
still alive — but no — ah ! why tliink of it ? And yet, Kate, 
'tis possible — " 

" Can we suffer more keenly than we have suffered, 
papa ?" she said. ^' Are not these lingering doubts more 
tormenting than the undisguised certainty ? Let us in 
our hearts pray for courage to meet this new agony of ex- 
pectancy, and to bear the new disappointment that may 
await us." 

" But did not the mate see the boat in which we had 
placed her, go down not a hundred yards from the ship ?" 



THE iialcycn's EETUKN". 21 

'' And the mate cannot be relied upon, father. You 
remember how intoxicated he and many others of the 
crew were ?" 

Kap, rap, rap was heard on the door, and the waiter 
entered with the preliminaries for breakfast. 

" I will iind the Halcyon's agents after breakfast,'* said 
the major. "Meanwhile, my darling, be patient, be 
hopeful, and let not your, returning life and animation be 
clouded over by these gloomy remembrances. I have met 
this morning an old acquaintance, Tom Sparrow, a 
lawyer hero. He and his wife invited us to become their 
guests. This I declined, for I know your wishes in such 
cases. But they will call at two o'clock and take us with 
them to the Goodstone races. 

" Do you really wish me to go, papa ?" said Kate, 
sitting down to the table. 

" Yes, I should like it," he said ; " I believe it will do 
you good." 

" At two, you say, j^apa ?" 

" At two, my daughter," and then the major too sat 
down to his coffee, and talked off-handedly, while in 
reality only thinking of the Halcyon. 

III. 

" Marables & Weir," said a musty sign, displayed over 
the doorway of a shipping office on the street which ran 



22 THE halcyon's return, 

along the water side of G . Water Street it would 

have been called of course anywhere else, but in this par- 
ticular town it went by the name of Lighthouse Street, 

for the reason that from old times, when G was an 

aspiring village, this road, now a busy street, had been 
flanked at either end by a light which many a mariner, 
far out from shore, had blessed on stormy winter nights. 
Everybody knew where Marables & Weir's place was 
on Lighthouse Street. Everybody knew they had ships 
sailing to or coming from a dozen ports, in as many dif- 
ferent countries. " Old Man Marables," as every one 
called him, had once been a merchant captain himself, 
but, years before, tired of the sea, had turned over the 
command of his ship, the Good Hope, to his son, and 
taken himself to a little office upon the site of the present 
one, where with advancing tirde came new gains and new 
ships, until he had taken in his son-in-law, Harry Weir, 
as a partner who in reality managed the business, and put 
up that now musty sign, "Marables & Weir." Their 
office was a dingy, old-fashioned place, partitioned off with 
glass from the rest of the establishment, where 
oakum, cables, chains, pulleys and anchors were strewn 
about, and where a strong odor of tar was invariably preva- 
lent. Of all these outer domains, a one-legged porter, 
who had sailed half a dozen voyages v\^ith the captain, be- 
fore losing his leg in slipping the anchor one day, had 
charge. Within the ancient and sacred precincts of the 



THE halcyon's keturn. 23 

office itself, with its old-fashioned furniture and clock 
were the partners and the book-keeper, guarded from 
needless intrusion by a placard upon the door, informing 
outsiders that only business would be tolerated as a reason 
for admittance. 

On this particular morning the office appeared to be 
the scene of no unusual activity. The captain had his 
glasses on and was seated by the door, carefully reading 
the newspaper. The book-keeper, an old sallow looking 
fellow, with long hair, and a countenance which seemed 
to say "Oh, how I'd enjoy a fortnight in the country," sat 
by the window, biting the end of his pen-handle and vacant- 
ly gazing out upon the water. Harry Weir had just gone 
out on business ; he was active and talkative enough, and, 
it may in fact, be said was the life and soul of the establish- 
ment, for the captain had come to be crusty and fearfully 
profane withal, in his old age, and the poor book-keeper, 
with a large family to eat his salary up in bread and but 
ter, had no time to laugh and be merry. 

" There's the Widgeon," said he, suddenly breaking 
the silence, ''just coming to anchor in the stream." 

" What V said Marables gruffly. He had a kind heart, 
but, like a good many v/ith kind hearts, a strange way of 
showing the fact. 

" You were asking about the Widgeon, a while ago," 
replied the book-keeper mildly. " She is here, and I see 
Nalley coming ashore in the boat," 



24 THE halcyon's retukn. 



The old man without replying folded liis paper and 
went to the window. " Ah !" said he, having satisfied 
himself; "now perhaps we shall hear something. Go on 
the wharf, Simmons, and ask him to step over here when 
he lands." 

The dyspeptic book-keeper seized his hat, and, darting 
for the door to obey the direction, almost ran into some- 
body just entering. It was the major. 

" Is Mr. Marables in the office ?" he inquired. 

" That is Capt. Marables, sir," said the book-keeper re- 
suming his errand. 

Major Loring bowed, " I have come for information 
in regard to the brig Halcyon, which I learn is consigned 
to you," he said. 

The captain pointed to a sailor-looking man, with rough 
beard and short legs, who was just crossing the street 
toward the office, " Here comes a pilot, just up from below, 
who can tell us all about it," said he. 

The major turned his eyes in the direction named, and 
saw the two as they entered the office. " Well, Cap'n," 
said the newly arrived, seating himself. 

" Nalley, what about the Halcyon ? Any signs of her 
vet ?" asked Marables. 

" There was a brig in the offing last night at sundown . 
but she can't get in until the wind changes. I think it's 
your brig." 

'' Umph !" said Marables looking at the major, who. 



THE halcyon's ketukn. • 25 

with hands folded behind him, was listening to the con- 
versation. " And what do yon think about the wind 
changing, Nalley f 

'^ Well, it's my opinion we shall have it from the south 
before the tide turns to-night. In that case the brig will 
be in by to-morrow noon. I'm going down again early in 
the morning to meet — Why, bless my stars, Capt. Loring, 
is that you, sir?" and the sturdy salt doffed his hat 
which up to that time had shaded his eyebrows and face, 
and rising, saluted the major most respectfully. " Why, 
Capt. Marables," he continued, turning to the old mer- 
chant, who was rubbing his glasses preparatory to a more 
extended survey of his visitor. " Why, when I was in 
the marines, Capt. Loring was my commander, and a 
more gallant officer, though I say it to his face, never 
wore uniform." 

"I am glad to meet you again, ISTalley," said the 
major, extending his hand, " and how long have you been 
out of the service ?" 

" Four years or so, captain. You see, 'twas too lazy a 
life for me ; half-sailor, half-soldier, yet not a bit of 
either, as 'twere. IN^o thing to do but eat and sleep ; 
laughed at by the jacks when at sea, and envied by the 
infantry when ashore, I got heartily tired of the marine 
corps, and after serving two enlistments, left with five 
hundred dollars saved up, in my pocket. I am now the 
master of that pilot boat yonder. The Widgeon, I call 



26 THE halcyon's return, 

her. But, captain, you've grown old-like since I saw you 
last. I remember well when you left us at the Brooklyn 
ISTavy Yard ; when you were ordered off on foreign ser- 
vice, I mean ; how the boys cheered you, and that little 
speech you made us all. There wasn't a dry eye in the 
company that time. It does my heart good to see you 
again." 

" Those were happy days that you recall, Galley,'' said 
the major, '' but I fear that I am trespassing upon the 
time and good nature of these gentlemen. I will there- 
fore briefly state the object of my visit. I arrived here 
this morning, Capt. Marables, with my daughter, for the 
purpose of attending the races. She has been in poor 
spirits of late, and I thought that the change would do 
her good. By to-day's paper, however, I learn that your 
brig, the Halcyon, brings as passengers, three survivors 
of a vessel lost in the Indian Ocean about a year and a 
half ago. Is it not so ?" 

" So we have been informed by a dispatch from our 
agents in Calcutta," said Capt. Marables. 

'' Sir," continued the major, " my daughter and I are 
survivors of such a ship- wreck. The steam packet Bom- 
bay, which ran on a rock and was lost in the same waters 
on the 23d of November, 186 — ,had on board as passengers, 
my wife, my daughter and myself, returning by the Com- 
pany Route to the Mediterranean, where I was to join the 
Albermarle at Genoa. But two of us reached there ;" 



THE halcyon's rkturn. 27 

and the major's voice trembled, " my wife I last saw 
lowered over the sinking vessel's side into a boat, which, 
in another moment, was swept away into the darkness, 
and, it is said, capsized." 

Hespect for his grief kept the listeners silent, as the 
gray-haired major, still with tremulous voice though 
standing erect and proud before them, continued : 

" We liad long since given up hope, for although the 
sloop of war St. James shortly after cruised among the 
islands and over a circuit of a Imndred miles thereabouts 
in search of survivors, it was all in vain. Hope was 
dead, gentlemen, until I read what I have this morning, 
and now you know it all. 'Now you must perceive the 
distressing uncertainty which tortures me." 

" The cable dispatch," said Marables, " which brought 
us the intelligence concerning the Halcyon came by way 
of Liverpool, and was singularly inexplicit, giving no 
names or dates, barely the mention of the fact. When 
do you go down again, Nalley ?" 

The honest pilot jumped to his feet. " This hour, if 
Captain Loring wishes," said he. 

'' But it all depends upon the wind, remember, my 
man," said Marables, " where's the use of your beating 
about outside or laying at anchor on the bar all night, so 
long as the Halcyon is away off on the horizon. She can't 
get up to-night, can she ?" 

" Impossible," said I^alley, '' but my boat is at Captain 
Loring's command." 



28 THE halcyon's return. 

The major thought a moment. "I thank you," said 
he, " and accept your kind offer. At six in the morning 
be ready to hoist your anchor. Meanwhile, should any 
necessity for an earlier departure transpire, send a mes- 
sage for me to the Wilton House." And with a courteous 
good morning, and a cordial grasp of the pilot's hand, the 
stately old major withdrew, and wended his way back to 
one of whose companionship he could not, since her 
mother's loss, long remain deprived. 

There were visitors in the parlor, he observed as he 
trod the carpeted hallway. He heard the gentle voice of 
Kate, interrupted at intervals by the cheery chirrupings 
of Tom Sparrow. '' ]^o race to-day, Loring," said he, a 
gloom momentarily passing over his countenance, '' no 
race to-day, my friend — postponed until the day after to- 
morrow — muddy tracks — too much for the horses, you 
know — severe disappointment — everybody talking about 
it — can't be helped, you know. Go to theatre to-night, 
though. Couldock and daughter play in ' Dora' — splendid 
thing, I'm told." 

Thus the dapper little lawyer rattled on, while Kate 
anxiously looked at her father, to glean, if possible, an 
inkling of what he might have learned during his ab- 
sence. But not a word did those features divulge, as the 
major, replying, said : " The postponement which you 
so much regret I do not, Tom, for to have fulfilled our en- 
gagement with you to-day would have been impossible. 



THE halcyon's eetukn. 29 



By day after to-morrow, Kate (whose acquaintance I am 
glad to see you have made) and I may be in better mood 
to enjoy the sport." 

Her bhie eyes brightened when he said this. " Ah, 
father," she invohmtarily exclaimed, " good news, I know 
it — good news." 

" Be patient, my darling ; to-morrow we shall know 
all." 

'' To-morrow ? must we then wait until to-morrow, 
papa ?" and to their visitor, who was bowing to depart, 
" you will dine with us, Mr. Sparrow, will you not ? 

" Just as w^ell as not," said he, '' Mrs. S. has things up- 
side down at home for John's birth-day party. She's 
booked you, major, for the first quadrille with her, so 
look up your dancing pumps, old fellow." 

" The major smiled. '' Come," he said, '' let us talk of 
old times, and all that has befallen us during the long 
years." 

" With all my heart, Loring," and these two old friends, 
reunited after their long separation, sat down, face to 
face, recounting the joys, the sorrows, which departed 
years had brought, while Kate, sitting at her father's feet, 
forgot, in the varied recital, the cares and anxieties of the 
moment. But while they talked, there came a timid, 
quiet rap on the door. It opened, and the sallow face of 
Simmons, the book-keeper, peered in, looking around. 
" Is Major Loring in ? Ah, yes ; Major, I^alley says the 



30 THE halcyon's RETURN, 

wind is getting around, and it will be time to start in 
half an hour." 

" Tell him I shall be punctual," said the major, look- 
ing at his watch. 

lY. 

Extracts from the diary of Mrs. Catharine Livingston 

Loring : 

December 27, 186—. 

And where axe they — that dear protector, that affectionate child? 
Through that terrible danger, that long illness, those dark moments, 
when death hovered over me, but this one thought has been mine : 
Are they still living, or have the merciless waves long since swallowed 
them up ? Father in Heaven, have mercy — the wife, the mother, cries 
out to thee from the depths of her doubt and despair. Give her 
strength, give her patience, give her an unfailing, unfaltering trust in 
Thee. Give her to say, in grief or in joy, '• Not my will, but Thine, 
God ! be done." 

And once more I feel returning life. May it not be that life is given 
me for a more zealous guarding of my duty ? 

May it not lie that the slender thread, awhile since so nearly riven 
in twain, may yet increase to a ligament binding me with tenfold 
strength to a life blessed by those dear ones restored to me ? 

Yet, I dread the answer so fraught with unspeakable sorrow or 
gratitude. 

Patience, my heart ; nerve thyself to whatever the future may bring. 
Trust and hope on, nor yet grieve for those who may even now them 
selves be mourning thee as forever lost. 

They say we have been here nearly four weeks. 'Tis all a blank 
time to me. I recollect the parting kisses, as I was lowered into t!ie 
boat, expecting them to follow me. Then I was suddenly in darkness ; 



THE halcyon's RETURN. 31 



the boat, lifted upon a great wave, was dashed from its fastenings, and 
in another moment the ship's lights were fast receding from our sight. 
Our cries were vain ; the roaring of wind and wave, the screams of 
drunken and desperate men, the shrieks of women and the plaintive 
cry of that poor little infant, mingled with our beseechings. We were 
adrift, the second mate and we three Avomen, sparsely clad, and wet 
and benumbed. 

Let me think ! Ah, no — I cannot recall the days and nights that 
followed. Thirst and hunger, and efforts almost superhuman, stand 
out as the only landmarks in that dreary waste of memory. Ah, yes ! 
one event I distinctly picture. That poor English girl who died, 
talking of her mother ! I shudder to think how pallid and distorted her 
face was when we ^ vo survivors, speechless, saw the mate consign her 
remains to the sea, then so tranquil and placid. I do remember, too, 
when the cry of "Land! thank God, land!" joyfully broke from the 
mate's lips ; then — it seemed a long time after — the boat's bottom 
grated upon the sand. This is all that my memory brings back to 
me. 

And to-day Sherburne, who has watched night and day by my side, 
as I lay on yonder pallet of grass, has told me all ; has allowed mo to 
sit up once more, providing for me this stool of twisted boughs, which 
he manufactured during my moments of sleep ; has pointed out to me 
the spot where he hollowed a grave for her who survived mth us the 
perils by water. This old book, drenched as it was, he found among 
the clothing dear Robert had thrown into the boat, and I now write 
with the same pencil which his dear hands placed there on the day we 
left port. How long ago that seems ! And yet, 'tis not over five weeks 
ago. 

I see a little white flag waiving from a staff upon the hill-top 
yonder, and Sherburne is standing there too. Poor fellow 1 How atten- 
tive, how respectful he has been. When my husband interposed on 
the Calcutta wharves that day to protect him from the American 
sailors, who had been drinking and were quarrelsome, how little did 



he anticipate this return. I cannot draw him into any extended "con- 
versation, save by constant questioning. " Yes, my lady," and " No, 
my lady," are his invariable answers. He brought me this morning 
two little fish he had caught by a peculiar line and hook of his own 
make. And here he has spread his jacket on the sand under my feet, 
lest I should be in danger from the dampness. 

But can we find subsistence here on this island ? Sherburne tells me 
he has explored it for a mile or so from the shore, and finds no traces 
of any human inhabitants. There is game in abundance, but we have 
no gun of any kind. He has, by the aid of his jack-knife, manufactured 
a long-bow, and twisted together linen threads into a bow string, and 
then, by arrows cut in the forest and sharpened at the fire, has suc- 
ceeded, he says, in killing two good sized birds during my illness. A 
clear spring bubbles forth not a hundred yards away from me, and 
sends its pure waters trickling down the hillside to the seashore. By 
the aid of stakes and the timbers from our boat, he has built for me a 
tolerable shelter, thatching it with grass on the roof and sides. Poor 
fellow, he seems entirely forgetful of self in his desire to protect the 
wife of his chance benefactor. 

Two months later the rainy season will set in, but ere that Sherburne 
will, he hopes, have completed our new abode on the hill-top. He is 
working hard, he tells me, in his leisure moments, and I have pro- 
mised, so soon as my strength will permit, to give him all the assist- 
ance in my power. 

But I see him coming down toward me again. Perhaps he has seen 
a ship. Three vessels have passed in sight, he says, since we landed. 
One of them, apparently a war vessel, came quite near in and fired a 
gun. Alas, we had no fire then, and our flag staff was not ready. We 
could make no signal in reply. 

^t* ****** 

January 18th, 18G— . 
Again I venture out from the damp, noisome darkness of yonder hut, 
and breathe the free, pure air, blowing fresh from the sea, which 



THE halcy(^n's eetukn. 33 



dances and sparkles before me. God is indeed good to me, in thus 
again sparing my life from the insidious fever which returned with 
increased vigor since I last wrote in these pages, only to leave me 
weak, irritable, and despondent. 

Time wears on and brings us no succor. A small trading boat came 
in quite close to us last week, evidently intending to land, probably for 
water, Sherburne says, but the wind came up fresh from the eastward, 
and they went off to sea again. I am half disheartened, and can see 
in my companion's unhappy face what his lips will not confess. He 
has become an expert in the use of the bow and the line, and we do 
not want for provisions, which he takes good care to season with salt 
gathered on the rocks. I do not complain. I am but too thankful for 
these blessings. Yet, in my soul there is daily growing up a despair 
which at times all but drives me mad. I will not think of it. 

The new house progresses but slowly. My illness, and the repeated 
«alls upon his assistance, give Sherburne but little time to work un- 
interruptedly. He begins, too, now and then, to venture a wish that 
I would hurry and be well in order that I may help him. He needs 
me, he says, to carry the wood which he cuts, and to help him put it 
in position. But I am losing heart, and sometimes think that before 
the house is completed only one will remain to occupy it. 



July 30th. 

My husband's birthday, and Sunday too. Sherburne, who is a pre- 
cise old mariner, has kept a log since our arrival, religiously notching 
each day when he awakes in the morning. 

The sun is very hot to-day, and I have sought shelter under a tree 
whose boughs, covered with luxuriant verdure and bending over to the 
ground, form a natural summer house. I know not why, but I am 
lighter of heart than for a long time past. Perhaps the spirits of those 
loved ones, still, I trust, in the land of the living, are recalling with 
mine the happy anniversary a year since, and are inspiring the while 
a mutual hopefulness. Perhaps, too, my restored health comes to give 



34 THE halcyon's return. 



me new courage. 'Tis a wonder I survived tliat little hut with its 
pallet of grass. 

Sherburne and I quarreled last week. For two days he was moody 
and morose, and on the third told me, abruptly, that he did not see 
how we were to get along hereafter ; the birds were getting scarce, 
and very timid at that, and the fish would not bite. I saw he was 
cross. So was I ; and I told him I did not believe what he said. How 
ungrateful it was of me. But I have come to be utterly selfish and 
pitiless here, I sometimes think. He answered me roughly and went 
ofi". I did not see him all that day ; but next morning, before the 
cabin, lay a bird and two fishes. The next day, another bird and fish. 
The day after, he came to me, about noon, his eyes cast down, and 
begged forgiveness, saying he was not himself of late. The noble 
fellow ! I shed tears myself and told him I owed my life to him. Since 
then he has been working harder than ever since our house was com- 
pleted. 



August 21st. 
Sherburne was taken ill with a violent fever this morning. He was 
away until very late in the night tending a signal fire, for we had seen 
a ship's masts on the horizon at sunset. Now he is lying restless on 
the floor here, breathing heavily and calling for water. This is the 
severest trial of all. There, I must put down my book, he is calling 
me. 

******** 

August 2ord. 
I fear that my companion will not recover. Yesterday, after an ab- 
sence of an hour or two, during which I fished with tolerable success, 
I found him raving in a delirium, which was followed at night by a 
stupor and weakness, in which he remained until morning. Before 
dawn, I heard him faintly calling me and begging for a dj-op of water. 
Then he told me, in a weak, faltering voice that he feared he would 



THE halcyon's eeturn. 35 



die. I bade him cheer up and hope, although my heart doubted the 
while. He fell asleep after I gave him to drink. This sleep may be 
the crisis. There— he is stirring. 

September 1st. 
Two weeks' watchings and labors have worn me out, and even as I 
write, it is with a hand so unsteady as to make my words scarcely 
legible. God be thanked ; Sherburne is recovering, and to-morrow 
will, I think, be able to sit up once more. He is very grateful, and 
talks of nothing save his gratitude, utterly unmindful of his own past 
kindness to me. 



December 3nd. 

^he anniversary of our landing — can it be that only a year has 
passed since then? A year — twelve succeeding months — made up of 
weary, monotonous days of expectancy. A year ! — as I think of it, 
hope dies in me. 

Yet I live ; is not this a subject for thankfulness ? Shall my grave 
be here on this desolate spot, or in the home of my early days, per- 
chance beside those whose memory is ever uppermost ? 

Since the terrible equinoctial gale which leveled our abode, and had 
nearly ended our lives, hard work has driven off these thoughts which 
to-day return to me with a thousand fold more potency. Insensibly, of 
late, I find there has stolen over me a stolid indifference to all save the 
present ; but at times, as now, the mist rises, and I see again the visi- 
ons which hope was wont to picture. We see vessels passing more 
frequently now, for the trading season has set in, yet they either do 
not see us, or disregard our signals. 

******** 

Christmas Day. 
Was there ever a merrier one ? Sherburne has just come breathlessly 



36 THE halcyon's return. 



in from the signal post to tell me, in hurried words, that a large mer- 
chant vessel came in sight early this morning, and, bearing steadily 
in towards the island, has come to anchor about five miles away, the 
people on board evidently detecting his signals. A boat has put off 
toward shore. I cannot write more now, so eager am I to join him at 

the signal station. 

* * Cc * * * * * 

I scarce know how to record my happiness, save upon my bended 
knees before that Heavenly Father who has preserved us through all 
these perils and privations. The boat's crev/ is from the English 
ship Hercules, bound for Bombay. They are kind and generous, and 
Sherburne is already a lion among them. But joy of joys! my first 
question was for information of the lost vessel — were the passengers 
saved ? At first they did not remember, but one of the sailors finally 
told me that he had been in Bombay when the survivors, all of whoni 
had been rescued by another vessel, had reached there, and then one 
or two of the others remembered the same circumstance. And can I 
dare hope that, after all this sad past, I shall yet again behold those 
dear faces and embrace that well-beloved husband and child ? Father, 
forgive my moments of mistrust and despondency. Let that life, pro- 
longed and made happy by Thy mercy, be dedicated anew to Thee. 



Y. 



The Halcyon's voyage had been long and tedious. 
IS^ow becalmed in glassy seas, now driven by adverse 
winds far out of her course ; in doubling the Cape en- 
countering a succession of furious gales, and thereby 
obliged to put in at Cape Town for provisions and re- 
pairs, it was not wonderful that, when at last she neared 



THE halcyon's return. 37 

the Atlantic's western shores, all on board looked forward 
with eagerness to that moment when ^' Land, ho !" should 
be shouted from the masthead. 

Among those whom she bore homeward to loving and 
loved ones were the two who, for a year, on that lonely 
isle, had, by the grace of God, lived through expect- 
ancy and hope to their deliverance. And as each day 
brought with it a nearer approach to the reunion which 
had been the dream of their absence, there came to each 
a vague dread lest, perchance, some fatal surprise might 
yet await them on arriving. 

Yet, whatever might be in store, they were eager to 
know it all — good or bad, the sooner 'twere over the 
better. Impatience would not longer brook delay by 
wind and wave. One morning, while on the Banks of 
^N^ewfoundland, a Cunarder, bound for New York, came 
rapidly up from astern, throwing the spray from her 
paddles and pushing gallantly on through the sea toward 
her destination ; she passed close alongside, stopped her 
engine, and spoke the sailing vessel, whose passengers 
and crew, weary and impatient, heard the ding of the 
gong in the engine room as the ponderous machinery 
began to revolve again and the huge craft moved on once 
more, leaving a white foamy wake behind her. And as, 
a few hours later, she disappeared on the horizon, her 
course only marked by a column of black smoke rising 
against the sky, longing eyes became dimmed with tears. 



38 THE halcyon's return, 

and one eager heart regretted that its possessor had not 
availed herself of that opportunity for a speedier solution 
of the doubts which tormented her. 

So when, on the following day, another cloud of smoke 
was sighted astern, and in time the mast and funnek and 
hull of another steamer came successively in view, a 
signal was run up to the Halcyon's masthead, and the 
steamer, a Havre and l^ew York liner, lay to in response, 
while a boat put off from the brig. Sturdy arms were at 
the oars, and in the stern, beside the steersman, sat the 
wife, the mother, braving all, daring everything, in the 
hope of sooner rejoining those who alone on earth were 
dear. 



"Kate," said the major, as soon as the sallow-faced 
book-keeper >vho had come to deliver the pilot's summons 
had withdrawn, "I want you to take a sail down 
the harbor this afternoon. And you, too, Tom, will ac- 
company us I hope. The skies are bright, the wind fair, 
and there is every prospect of a charming pleasure-trip. 
I^alley, the pilot, one of my old marines, whom I met 
this morning, has offered us his boat, the Widgeon, and 
I cannot refuse such an opportunity." 

" A neater or faster craft of her tonnage doesn't sail in 
these waters," said Sparrow, who prided himself upon 

knowing everybody and everything in Gr . " But I 

must decline, Loring, much as I should enjoy it. Mrs. S. 



THE halcyon's return. 



39 



would never forgive me if I left her in the lurch at this 
emergency in her party-giving career. I see how it is 
the boat is waiting." 

^^ And^^ said the major, ^'' the Halcyon is coming in 
with three survivcrs of the shipwreck which separated me 
^rom my wife^ and this dear child from her mother.^'' 

Both started ; Kate, her face flushed with eagerness, ex 
claimed, " Oh, papa, is it indeed so ?" and hastened to 
make arrangements for departure. Nor did the fat little 
lawyer conceal his surprise at the announcement. " I 
read about it this morning," said he — '' but little dreamed 
it interested you so deeply. Come, no ceremony, Loring, 
I'll come and dine with you to-morrow. God grant that 
your hopes may be realized. I know too, when I'm in 
the way, though you're too polite to say it. Good bye," 
and the father and daughter were alone. 

" Take your fur cape and shawls, Kate," said the 
major, " we may need them, for it blows fresh and cool 
on the water. Are you nearly ready, daughter ?" 

" All ready, dear father," said Kate, bringing forth his 
hat and cloak. In the pocket of the latter she had quietly 
slipped the major's cigar case, full of his favorite Havanas, 
and into a little satchel she carried on her arm, an opera 
glass. ^'Now we can go. But" — and her countenance 
looked up, inquiringly, into his — " ch, father, I almost 
dread the denouement." 

He, brave old man, had nerved himself to the errand. 



40 



THE HALCYON S RETURN. 



His glance met her's tenderly, but there was not in it 
even a semblance of misgiving. " Cheer np, dear, dear 
child," said he, " we shall soon know now." 

!N alley was awaiting them at the pier, abreast of which 
lay the Widgeon ready for the start, her white sails 
flapping in the afternoon wind. He bowed respectfully 
to Kate, as on her father's arm, she approached where he 
had been sitting. " Major, you're prompt, I see," said 
he. " The wind has deceived me for once. The Halcyon 
is not more than five miles oiF shore. On her next lee 
ward tack we shall catch a sight of her. If you say so 
we will get aboard, and up anchor. I see the Fanny 
coming in to answer the signal for a ilot. If we don't take 
care, she will get the start of us." 

The boat was awaiting them alongside the pier. A 
few strokes of the oars, and they shot rapidly over the 
calm water to the neat craft which was to bear father and 
daughter to joy or despair. " Up anchor" shouted !N alley, 
" never mind the boat, let her swing astern ; haul taut on 
that jib sheet, boys ; now the mainsail — so." 

The orders were obeyed with an alacrity which con 
vinced the major that his service in the marines had 
taught Nalley the blessing of discipline on shipboard. In 
another moment the light craft yielded to the influence 
of the gentle wind filling her canvass, and, careening 
lightly, moved away from her anchorage towards 
the mouth of the harbor, passing great ships, moored or 



THE halcyon's RETURN. 41 

at anchor, crumbling water-soaked wharves on which long 
time ago had been landed the wealth of foreign lands, then 
lawns and homesteads, then the lighthouse, then meadows 
water-lined with drift-wood, and casks and endless debris, 
then, on either side, sandy points extending out like two 
withered arms to embrace the open sea beyond, and form- 
ing a natural gateway to the beautiful harbor of G . 

All this time the major and Kate had been seated aft, 
glancing now and then at the varied view presented on 
either shore, yet more frequently shading their eyes to 
look toward the sea at that point where the brig should 
first come in view from behind the wooded highland 
which concealed her. Not a word spoke ISTalley the 
while, as he stood with his hands holding the tiller behind 
him, and looking stolidly out ahead, apparently uncon- 
scious of the presence of his passengers. There were 
delicate sensibilities under that rough exterior which told 
him that silence would be more welcome than words. 
But when the boat went scudding out past the points, so 
close to the sandy beach that ITalley might have shied his 
hat high and dry ashore, and the fresh strong breeze which 
precedes the sunset filled the sails and sent the Widgeon 
dashing ahead like a race horse, I^alley, the seaman, had 
to speak. " 'Now we feel it, major," said he exultingly,"and 
yonder is the Halcyon ; the Fanny has sent off a pilot, I 
see, but we shall be there now in ten minutes if this 
glorious breeze lasts." 



42 THE halcyon's return, 

" How exhilarating it is, papa, this cool, crisp salt wind, 
and how fast we are moving. Do yon hear the water 
plashing under the bows. Oh, dear me, papa ! its of no 
nse. I can't conceal it. I never was so anxious — so much 
in suspense in mj whole life. I scarcely dare look to- 
ward the vessel yonder. I am trembling with eagerness. 
How much longer will it be papa?" 

Major Loring had risen, and was standing bareheaded, 
with his arms folded, looking mutely out over the inter- 
vening waters toward the Halcyon, upon whose decks 
forms of men were already visible. The wind was play- 
ing with his gray locks throwing them back in confusion, 
and in his eye there was the light of expectancy. Kate's 
question broke in upon his reverie. 

" What did you ask, my darling ?" he said, even more 
tenderly than was' his wont, for in a few moments more 
she might be even dearer and more precious to him than 
ever. 

" How much longer, papa ?" she repeated timidly, 
looking up. • 

" Not long. Not long, my daughter. Look !" And 
as he pointed they saw the flutter of a woman's dress 
upon the quarter-deck of the brig. 

" Here, papa," said Kate, hastily producing the glass 
from her satchel. " Use this, I brought it with me." 

" Too far, yet," said he, adjusting and lifting it to his 
eyes. 



THE halcyon's ekturn. 43 

"The Fanny's pilot has boarded her," said Nalley. 
" See ! Down conies the blue bunting with the horse on 
it. I'll run up around her stern, and scud alongside in 
speaking distance." And, lifting his voice, " All hands 
forward, ready to 'bout ship." 

The men came quickly up from the forward hatchway 
and stood in readiness. Already the dingy hull of the 
brig loomed up not two hundred yards away, as, with all 
sails set, she came plunging onward toward the termina- 
tion of her long, long voyage. Men were standing at the 
bow, on the bowsprit and cross-trees, or were peeping out 
from the ports, eagerly straining their eyes toward the 
distant steeples and roofs and hillsides, gilded in the 
sunset. 

And now the shadow of the brig shot over the pilot 
boat, while the roaring of the waters under her bow, and 
the flapping of the Widgeon's sails, momentarily robbed 
of the wind, for an instant were alone to be heard. 
" Eeady ! 'Bout ship !" shouted Nalley. Flap, flap, 
went the canvass; the cordage rattled through the pul- 
leys ; the great boom swung over to starboard. The 
Widgeon paused, staggered for a moment, like a racer 
catching for breath, then glided on across the crystal 
eddying wake of the brig, upon whose stern the words 

" Halcyon, of G ," were yet indistinctly legible, and 

in another moment both vessels were side by side, head- 
ing towards home. 



44 THE halcyon's retukn. 



" They are all talking to the pilot, asking him the 
news," said Xalley, turning to the major. Kate, one 
hand upon her father's shonlder, her ringlets fluttering 
in the breeze, her eyes radiant, her face flushed, was lean- 
ing forward, watching with unspeakable earnestness the 
scene on the deck above them. 

The majoi: said " Speak them, Galley." 

'' Halcyon, ahoy, there," shouted the pilot. 

'' Don't want any pilot — got one, don't you see," said 
a tall, raw-boned man, leaning both hands on the taftrail, 
then pointing aloft. 

'' Are you the captain ?" asked IN'alley. 

" Yes, sir." 

" How many passengers ?" 

" One." Kate gave a faint cry. 

"mme?" 

" SJierhurneP 

These words brought a shudder to the major, while 
Kate sank weeping upon the bench. 

'' Reported you had three shipwrecked people." 

'' Had two," answered the captain. '' Other was a 
lady ; both lost on the Erebus." The major started. 

'' Where is " — ^alley's arm was grasped. 

^' Don't — oh — don't ask him." said Kate. " Oh God 
— how can we bear this answer ?" 

The major put his arm about her, and folded lier to his 
heart, as if to shield her from all evil. " Be brave, my 



THE HALCYON S RETURN. 



45 



child," he said, " we must know all sooner or later. Nal- 
ley, ask him who was his other passenger." 

The rawboned skipper appeared to grow impatient. 
" Lady passengers a heap of trouble. Anxious to get 
home. Transferred her to a 'New York steamer two days 
ago. Must be there by this time." 

" Her name ?" asked l^alley now himself all emotion. 

" Loving ^^ shouted the captain, turning away. Nalley 
turned his eyes, wet with tears of excitement and joy. 
[N^ear him on the deck, with up-turned eyes, knelt the 
gray haired husband, the sunny-haired daugher, forgetful 
of all save their gratitude for that great and unlooked-for 
deliverance. 



YI. 



Jack Sparrow's coming birthday party vied with the 
Goodstone races in exciting the joyous anticipations of the 

younger population of G . Jack Sparrow, everybody 

knew. He was a good-hearted, whole-souled young 
fellow. He never saw a child crying in the streets with- 
out stopping to ask the reason, and, if possible, alleviate 
its bitter grief. He did not grind down into the earth 
with his passing heel the marbles of small boys playing 
on the sidewalks or in the squares. He never had been 
known to do a mean or ungentlemanly act to anybody, 
rich or poor. Tom Sparrow was proud of his boy, and 



46 THE halcyon's retuen, 

with good cause, for everyone liked him and proniised 
well for him in the future. 

He had come home from his second term Sophomore at 

Y to celebrate a birthday, which came in the college 

holidays, fortunately. Now, on his arrival, he found that 
invitations had been issued, and that scores upon scores 
of his acquaintances, intimate and otherwise, were to cele- 
brate with him, in his father's parlors, his completion of 
eighteen years' existence in this transitory world. 

He found the house topsey-turvey with preparation. His 
indulgent paternal relative, whose pleadings he had, when a 
boy and taken to court by his father to keep him out of 
mischief at home, listened to with respectful awe, he saw 
divested of his professional dignity, dancing about the 
house in a high state of expectant activity. He found his 
affectionate mother who called hun "dear little bov" to this 
day, too busy to ask him all the news of his absence. He 
concluded to surrender at discretion, and to appear m the 
character of host in a style commensurate with the pre- 
parations. 

Tom Sparrow came home rather puzzled from his in- 
terview at the hotel. " Yery strange, wife," said he. 
" Did you read the Gazette this morning ?" 

" Now don't you know, Tom, I havn't even had time 
to eat a mouthful of dinner." 

" Yes, yes, I remember," said Tom, dancing out of the 
way of a servant bouncing in with a waiter full of glass- 



THE halcyon's RKTURN. 47 



ware. " Somethini]^ very funny, though. Loring's gone 
out into the harbor to meet a brig on which he thinks his 
wife is." 

" Why, he is a widower, I thought." 

" That's just, w^hat he thought himself," said the little 
man, roguishly, " until he saw the paper this morning, 
reporting the safety of three survivors of a shipwreck 
where his wife was supposed to have been lost. Can't I 
persuade you, my dear Mrs. S., to take an ocean voyage 
with me ?" 

" Now, Tom, don't joke on such subjects, I beg of you. 
And so. Major Loring is in this terrible suspense. I pray 
that she may be restored to him. What would be my 
feelings, you dear old fellow, if I were sailing back to 
you after you thought me dead ?" 

" And mine, Molly (he always called her Molly in ex- 
tremely affectionate moments), if I were expecting you ?" 

" How Jack would laugh," she said, " to hear us talk- 
ing so. But now, while I think of it, I want you to go 
to the depot to-morrow morning and see about that fruit 
and wine, Parmelee was to send me up from New York. 
Don't forget it." 

Precisely twenty-four hours after Major Loring and 

Kate had reached G , the Express train came dashing 

in again, and its passengers came pouring out upon the 
platfoiTQ, where, among others, stood dapper Tom Sparrow 
waiting the new arrivals. 



48 THE HALCYON S RETURN, 



He saw the passengers come pouring out, men, women 
and children — homely and handsome, rich and poor — all 
in the American hurry to get to their destinations as ex- 
peditiously as possible. He saw the baggage-men and 
drivers rushing hither and thither, beckoning to this 
one, speaking to that one, jostling everybody. He saw 
the passengers who only alighted for breakfast at the eat- 
ing-saloon hurrying in to swallow a cup of coffee and a 
piece of railway beefsteak, as if their lives depended on 
a combination of speed and voracity. He saw the cases 
of wine and the box of fruit bearing his address deposited 
in the express w^agon, and was turning to go when he 
heard a female voice inquiring : 

" Is there a gentleman by the name of Major Loring at 
the Wilton House, do you know ?" 

The question was addressed to the hotel baggage-man, 
who, with a huge trunk on his shoulder, was, with un- 
steady step, moving towards his wagon. 

" Major Loring ? — ^yes, ma'am ; him and daughter ar- 
rived yesterda}^ ; took their baggage up ; stopping at 
room 24. Kerridge, ma'am ?" 

" Thank you ; I shall be obliged if you will call one for 



me." 



Sparrow looked closely at her whose inquiry for his 
friend had attracted his attention. He saw a matron lady 
of prepossessing appearance, dressed in black and veiled, 
yet not sufficiently to conceal a countenance both re- 



THE HALCYON S KETUKN. 



49 



fined and benevolent in its expression. A momentary 
thought flashed over him — " No," he said, " it can't 
be — the Halcyon came in last night. But I'll offer my 
assistance at all events." 

So the little man smoothed his coat, pulled up his 
collar, gave a glance downward at his general external 
appearance, and then, taking off his hat, bowed most 
politely to the lady, saying : " Madame, pardon this liberty. 
I heard you inquire concerning Major Loring, did I not? 
I am an intimate acquaintance of his," and, with another 
bow, he handed his card, upon which she read : 



Attorney and Counsellor. 



" He is stopping at the Wilton House, madame, and if 
you will allow, I shall take pleasure in conducting you to 
him and his daughter." 

The lady, thus unexpectedly addressed, appeared for a 
moment undecided how to reply. 

" Are they well ?" she asked in tremulous voice. 

"Perfectly," said Sparrow; '*I left them yesterday 
about to sail down the harbor to meet a vessel coming in 
from Calcutta. They must have returned before mid- 
night, for the Halcyon is here." 



50 THE HALCYON S RETURN, 

"Is here?" said the lady starting. "I beg you, with- 
out delay, conduct me to Major and Miss Loring's hotel." 

"Here's your Kerridge, ma'am," said the baggage-man, 
returning quite out of breath. 

" Madame," said Sparrow, bowing most respectfully, 
"we lawyers are curious. May I be permitted, as a 
friend of Major Loring's, to ask a single question ; to ask 
if you are" — 

" His wife, sir," replied Mrs. Loring, " so long separated 
from him, and so soon, I trust, to be restored to him." 

Sparrow, no longer in cautious doubt, fairly danced 
with glee. " ^hy, my dear madame, I cannot express my 
happiness. When I left your anxious husband and 
daughter yesterday they knew not whether to rejoice in 
hope or be patient in tribulation. Imagine their sus- 
pense. They knew that survivors of the ship on which 
you all were wrecked, were coming by the Halcyon. 
They knew nothing more, and 'twixt hope and doubt 
they sailed down to meet the expected vessel. But what 
must have been their agony of disappointment ? You ar- 
rive by the train. I'm puzzled, madame, I'm puzzled in 
the midst of my happiness." 

" I was transferred at sea from the Halcyon to a Kew 
York bound steamer, which reached there yesterday," 
said Mrs. Loring, the tears coming into her eyes, after 
hearing Sparrow's recital. " I beg you sir, do not detain 
me longer from them. The carriage is waiting." 



THE halcyon's RETURN. 51 

Sparrow saw her to the carriage door. " I would that 
it were in my power to persuade you, madame, to defer 
the reunion until I shall have paved the way by an inter- 
view with your husband and daughter. I am apprehen- 
sive that, disappointed as they must be by the events of 
yesterday, the sudden revulsion of feeling certain to 
ensue from your entrance unannounced might be of serious 
injury to both you and your daughter — perhaps even to 
our dear old major himself — schooled as he is to self- 
control." 

" This had not occurred to me," she said, " but what 
do you propose sir ?" 

" That my wife, Mrs. Sparrow, who, yesterday, by the 
way, met your husband, be, for a few hours, your hostess, 
while I, meanwhile, go and break the news." 

She looked closely into his face — travel and society , 
and reading, had combined to make her a physiognomist 
— she judged the little man aright, when she read in his 
good natured countenance, when he made the proposi- 
tion, nothing but the promptings of a kindly heart. 

" You are very generous and considerate, sir," she re- 
plied, " let it be as you say ; but you can imagine the 
struggle which the delayed reunion costs me." 



" The down train leaves at ten o'clock, this morning, 
papa," said Kate, sitting by their hotel parlor window 



52 THE halcyon's return. 



with the paper in her hand. " We have little time to 
lose. See, it is nine, already." 

The room was divested of that cheery home-like aspect 
which Kate, after unpacking the trunks, had given it on 
the previous day. It had resumed the appearance it had 
presented when they first entered it yesterday morning, 
and near the doorway the trunks were strapped and 
ready for the expressman. 

"We must not miss it under any circumstances, papa," 
Kate continued. " Did you send the dispatch to Uncle 
Mattf^ 

" Just as you wrote it, dear," he answered. " I do 
helieve I have lost my self-possession for once, Kate. 
Where is my cigar-case ?" 

Rat-tat-tat. There came a lively rap on the door, and 
Sparrow's face, rosier than its wont, was thrust in. 
" Good morning, good morning," said he — " why, what's 
the meaning of these trunks, Loring ? Are they yours, or 
did they come on the Halcyon ?" 

" Tom," said the major, '' we are off post haste for 
New York by this morning's train. This dear girl's 
mother, my wife, is saved — is, even now without doubt, 
awaiting us there. I have sent a dispatch that we are 
coming at once." 

Sparrow, for once, feigned delight and surprise, but 
whistled in his sleeve at the dilemma. " And how did 
you learn this ?" he asked. 



THE halcyon's eeturn. 53 

" The captain of the Halcyon told ns," said Kate. '' He 
has been here this morning to tell us all about mamma. 
She was transferred at sea to a New York bound 
steamer." 

Sparrow was nonplussed. ^' The train goes at ten," he 
said ; " you've got plenty of time to stop and say good- 
bye to Mrs. Sparrow on your way to the depot. In your 
suspense and anxiety, that will be an excellent plan for 
killing off the intervening three-quarters of an hour — 
what say you ?" 

" Yes, papa," said Kate. " Mr. Sparrow has been so 
kind and attentive that — 

" ]^o, no — not I," said Sparrow. " Come — I want my 
wife to, at least, have an opportunity of seeing you. Miss 
Kate, before your unexpectedly sudden departure." 

The major, acquiescing in his daughter's request, the 
carriage was called. When the baggage-man came in. 
Sparrow slipped a quarter in his hand and whispered, 
''Don't mention that lady at the depot." The fellow 
knew his business and kept still. 

Through the shaded streets they drove rapidly to Spar 
row's house. As they neared it, the little man felt that 
he must give his companions an inkling of what was to 
come. 

" Loring," said he, '^ I'd be willing to wager a basket 
of Green Seal that you won't catch that train." 

" We have'nt much time to lose, I know," said the 



54 THE halcyon's return. 



major — " we'll just wish Mrs. Sparrow good-morning and 
be obliged to make our adieus in the same breath. The 
train must not be missed." 

" I'd wager another basket of Clicquot that if the train 
came in an hour behind time you would'nt catch it," 
continued Sparrow, with a mischievous look in his eye 
and a smile lurking about his lips, as he looked from 
Kate to her father, as if to detect suspicion of his intent. 

Kate, with a woman's instinct did suspect. 

" I don't understand what you can foresee to detain us," 
she said quickly. 

"Something," he said, still mischievously, still archly 
smiling. 

" Tom, you are as inveterate a joker as ever you were, 
I see," said the major ; " I'll be bound a pun is coming." 

" No — no pun this time, Loring ; better than that, old 
fellow ; somebody — " 

" Who ?" they both asked in a breath. 

" Can't you imagine ?" he asked. 

" It can't be poss — oh ! papa, papa — see there — there 
at the window," cried Kate, clapping her hands and 
pointing toward the house before which the carriage had 
stopped — " oh, dear, darling mamma ! yes, we're coming 
— quick driver — quick, please." 

A glance sufficed the gray-haired major. In it he saw 
the dear face he had believed he would never look upon 



THE HALCYON S RETURN. 



55 



again ; in it he saw, full of love, tearful eyes gazing fond- 
ly into his. 

" Coming, dear wife, coming," he said, as she hastened 
to meet him. 

All was ended now — the liope and the fear and the anguish, 
All the aching of heart, the restless, unsatisfied longing, 
All the dull, deep pain and constant anguish of patience ; 

and in another moment their outstretched arms were 
locked about each other's necks, two losdng, trusting souls 
reposed upon the dear old soldier's bosom, and two fond 
faces looked tearfully up into his as he lifted up his eyes 
and murmured, " Father, we thank Thee." 



Jack Sparrow's birthday party came off that night in 
glorious style. The parlors were brilliant with gaslight, 
beauty and wit. Sparrow, pater, was everywhere among 
the guests, quite wild with excitement, and making visits 
to the wine table in the dining-room so frequently as to 
occasion a gentle admonition from the vigilant Mrs. 

S . Jack did the honors of host with an eclat truly 

admirable, and was quietly voted a charming young man 
and a superb dancer by every young lady in the room, 
not excepting those pretty school girls who had pinched 
the stupid professor. But it was not until, weary with 
the dance, the happy assemblage gathered about the 



56 THE HALCYON S RETURN. 

supper table, that rosy Tom Sparrow, in his jolly good 
nature a very Bacchus incarnate, rose, and filling his 
glass to the brim, rapped for silence, and said, " You all 
must have heard of the happy reunion which transpired 
under this roof to-day. Ladies and gentleman, fill your 
glasses. I propose a toast : The Halcyon's Return !" 



SUB ULMIS. 

Under the elms we walked 

As the moon was climbing the sky, 

And vowed, as we tenderly talked, 
Together to live and to die. 

How little, how little we thought, 
When living those moments of bliss, 

That hard-hearted time could have brought 
Such cold separation as this. 

And yet — was there not in each heart 
A vague apprehension ; a dread 

That after all this, we might part 
And be to each other as dead ? 

Ah yes ! for it was but a dream, 

A sunset that sinks in the sea, 
A waif floating down on life's stream. 

For now she is dead unto me. 

Under the elms I walk 

As the moon is climbing the sky. 
And vow, as unanswered I talk, 

That alone I will live and will die. 



MY CASTLES. 



Domes and minarets and towers — 
Turrets which can kiss the sky. 

Grottoes cool, and leafy bowers 
Clad in buds that never die, 

These, and beauties twice as fair, 

Deck my castles in the air. 

Flecks of clouds, all bright and golden, 
Hover round their shadowy walls; 

Strains and voices, sweet and olden, 
Echo through those spectral halls. 

Many an angel lingers where 

Float my castles in the air. 

Oft at sunset as I ponder 
O'er the glories in the West, 

And my restless spirits wander 
Far and wide in search of rest, 

Angels whisper " See, 'tis there. 
In yon castles in the air." 

But when I approach them nearer, 
And their beauties fain would clasp, 

Neither more distinct nor clearer, 
Ever they elude my grasp. 

And I turn in sad despair 

From my castles in the air. 



THE VOUDOUX AND THEIR CHARMS. 



Eight or ten squares back from St. C Street, 

running parallel thereto, is a street known as Y 

Street, a quiet thoroughfare, where people may live all 
the year round without encountering any greater excite- 
ment than that caused by the running away of a grocer's 
horse or the arrest of a mid-night brawler. Pleasant 
rows of cottages front upon its sidewalks, lines of shade 
trees are growing before them, and in the evening scores 
upon scores of happy children romp until bed-time. In 

short, Y Street is quiet, retired, and usually devoid of 

great events. 

But one morning last week there came a sensation. 
The dwellers in one of those quiet houses w^ere 
astonished, perhaps somewhat unpleasantly so, to find 
upon their doorstep, not the traditional basket and 
baby, not an anonymous letter, or warning from the 
Ku-klux, but, more strange than either, the quivering 
heart of a beef, stufied with tacks and wild herbs, and 
wrapped around with black crape. 

IS'ow, in any other city save this, such a discovery 
would suggest no more than the trick of a mischievous 
boy, and the finders would throw away the nonsensical 



THE VOUDOUX AND THEIR CHARMS. 59 



trash, and think no more of it. But in this case notice 
was immediately sent to the Lieutenant of Police, and 
steps were taken to have the author of the mystery 
apprehended. However impotent and silly may be the 
means, the leaving of this strange charm had a meaning ; 
one which, had it been left at the door of some of the 
negroes living in this great city would have terrified 
them almost into their graves ; but which, in the present 
case, being conveyed to white persons of intelligence, and 
devoid of superstition, only marks them as the silent 
objects of some ignorant person's hatred. 

In other words, this was the work of the Youdoux, whose 
creed is an old relic of African superstition, made up of 
incantations, conjuror's arts and savage rites, which even to 
this day finds its votaries in this city. Threaten a negro 
with the curse of the Youdou Queen, and you invoke upon 
him or her all the terrors of the Inferno. An inexplicable 
horror seizes upon the one thus threatened, and the only 
preservative is in counter charms. Many and many a 
time have servants, under supposed indignities from their 
em.ployers, gone to consult with " the Queen," generally 
a withered old crone, dressed in black, head-handkerchief 
and all, who, for a fee, gives the incensed one advice, 
whether pacificatory or the contrary. The writer remem- 
bers a case where a mulatto servant girl, while opening 
some feather pillows, found a number of little knots, or 
Imlls, into which, as is generally the case, the feathers had by 



60 THE VOUDOUX AND THEIR CHARMS. 



long use shaped themselves. Immediately she burst into 
a fit of loud crying, and calling her mistress, showed her 
the knots in question. Nothing could quiet her or induce 
her to touch the pillows or feathers again. It was a 
Youdou charm, she said, foretelling no good to those who 
slept upon the pillow. In vain it was attempted to ex- 
plain to her excited comprehension that electricity had 
caused the conglomeration of the feathers. Straightway 
she proceeded to consult the nearest Youdou Queen. 
Royalty received her with due ceremony, and having 
heard the story of the pillows, said that it had indeed been 
a charm wrought for some body, but not for those who 
then nightly laid their heads to rest upon it. And so the 
woman was quieted, but she never fully recovered from 
the shock. 

Now and then, the police discover votaries of Youdou- 
ism in their orgies, dancing naked about a cauldron, 
uttering terrific yells, in fact carrying out to the letter, 
one of those savage scenes which travelers have told us 
are occasionally to ])e witnessed among the tribes of the 
interior of Africa. By the indescribable terror and 
imaginary power with which these " Queens " thus invest 
themselves, do they obtain this influence over their 
votaries. There is one ^' Doctor John " who is said to 
possess healing power to a miraculous extent. And lately, 
too, a valuable lot of stolen diamonds are said to have been 
reclaimed through the directions given by a Youdou. 



THE YOUDOUX AND THEIR CHARMS. 61 

So it came that when one morning the inmates of the 

quiet house on Y Street found on their doorstep, the 

beefs heart served up in green herbs, tacks and crape, 
they felt themselves fully justified in informing the police 
that some unknown person was thus manifesting a feeling 
of hostility toward them. 



" Meert Christmas." — There is an old tradition, and 
a beautiful one it is, that during these winter nights in 
the Christmas holidays, spirits and faries are abroad in 
the air, flitting here and there in the starlight, wafting 
happiness and good cheer down upon the sleeping 
world. Children smile in their dreams, and over old 
brows weary with the toil of life, come in for a brief 
moment, a brighter vision. The season upon which we 
are just entering is consecrated to mirth, to peace, to 
good will toward all. If it finds us unhappy, it will drive 
away our griefs ; while on the other hand it cannot but 
intensify the joys of a happy heart. So, let us forget 
trouble for awhile, and put away from our thoughts all 
that would remind us of life's burdens. Let us give our- 
selves up to the happiness of the season while we may. 
There is enough beyond ; when it comes meet it, but let 
the morrow take thought for the things of itself. 



THE CARPET-BAGGER'S SOLILOQUY. 



To starve or not to starve ; that's what's the matter. 

Whether 'tis better for a while to suffer 

The pangs and growlings of a hungry stomach, • 

Or take up arms against Democracy, 

And by it make a living. To eat ; to starve 

No more, and by a good square meal to end 

The stomach-ache, and all the thousand woes 

Poor men are heir to ; 'tis a consummation 

Devoutly to be wished. To eat — to feed. 

To drink — perchance get tight — aye, that's the talk, 

For in those drunken hours what plans may come ! 

Then I'll have shuffled off these shabby clothes 

And rigged anew. In this respect 

I never was so seedy in my life. 

Who wouldn't bear the hoots and jeers of boys, 

The look of scorn, the proud man's contumely, 

The pangs of despised love, the law's delay, 

The insolence of office, and the spurns 

That loyal merit of the unpardoned takes. 

When he himself may his own fortune make 

By turning Rad ? Who a valise would bear. 

To grunt and sweat beneath the weary load, 

But that the hope of something afterward, 

A seat in the Convention out of which 

No member goes home poor — sustains the will 

And makes one glad to tote his carpet bag 

And mix with people that he knows not of. 

And thus the darkened hue of legislation 

Is sicklied o'er ^vith the pale caste, I've thought. 

And enterprises of great pith and moment 

With this regard their currents turn awry 

And lose the name of action. 



AN AUDIENCE IN THE DARK. 



Reader, have you ever been attacked by Phantas- 
magoria? If you haven't, we have, and can recom- 
mend the complaint as an admirable dispeller of the 
bines. The symptoms came on last evening, as, entering 

the C Place Baptist Church, we found there 

collected a goodly number of people, most of them young 
people, all anticipating an attack similar to that which 
threatened ourselves. In the chancel there had been 
erected a white screen, and, looking toward this, some 
indefinable misgiving crossed our mind. But casting 
aside these foolish fears, and sinking quietly down into a 
velvet cushioned pew, we resigned ourselves to the 
attack. 

It came on as dreamily and pleasantly as the effects 
of a narcotic gently stealing over the senses, and soothing 
them to rest. First came music, " Flee as a Bird unto 
the Mountains," sung by a quintette, with piano 
accompaniment, and sung very charmingly, too. Then, 
of a sudden, out went the lights. Aha, we thought, now 
the Phantasmagoria come on apace. Light after light, to 
the very last one, was extinguished, and lo ! the whole 



64 AN AUDIENCE IN THE DARK. 

interior of the church was in utter darkness. Whether 
or not young couples managed to carry on their conver- 
sation under such adverse circumstances ; whether diffi- 
dent sw^ains were emboldened by their invisibility to say 
what, in the light, they would never have ventured upon ; 
whether others, anxious to clear themselves from all sus- 
picions, sat bolt upright out of reach of anybody, we 
can't say, but we do know that when the black darkness 
came, young babies began to expostulate with their 
mammas, and hilarious boys about the outskirts of the 
assemblage, made bold to applaud, especially when, upon 
the white screen, there appeared in rapid succession a 
series of illuminated pictures, representing scriptural 
scenes, such as the Good Samaritan, the Virgin Mary 
and her child, and various others. Each of these the 
boys welcomed with that j^rolonged, hushed, " Oh-h-h," 
indicative of most intense boyish satisfaction, while the 
older folks looked on evidently equally, though less 
demonstratively, appreciative. Once in a while, when 
the reflection was dim, the boys would cry " More light," 
which praiseworthy desire was promptly gratified by the 
doubly invisible manager behind the screen. 

In the basement of the church three or four beautifully 
decorated tables had been spread with an abundance of 
delicacies, and hither, after the exhibition above had con- 
cluded, the assemblage adjourned. We were obliged 
to bid farewell to the pleasant scene, some time before 



AN AUDIENCE IN THE DARK. 65 

the entertainment ended, but left with memories of a 
warm hospitality, and with the assurance that an attack of 
Phantasmagoria is by no means so deplorable an occur- 
rence as one ignorant of its nature might imagine. 



Oh ! Peefectlt Sober. — ^An application was made a 
few nights ago to the superintendent of police to release 
a man who had been locked up for intoxication, the ap- 
plicant oifering to give bonds for the delinquent's ap- 
pearance on the following day. " Bring him in, and let's 
see his condition," said the superintendent, temporarily 
turning away to attend to some other business, while the 
friend, accompanied by a special, went to bring in the in- 
carcerated for inspection. Ten minutes later, a terrible 
racket in the hall was audible ; shuffling of feet, stamp- 
ing and shouting, all combined to astonish the occupants 
of the superintendent's office. The door flew open, and 
lo ! a tableau was presented. Propped up in the arms 
of the special officer on one side, and the applicant for his 
release on the other, afi*ectionately leaned the inebriate, 
his knees doubled up under him, his chin in his vest, hat 
banged in, eyes half open, and arms hanging limp and 
lifeless. " Is this the man you want me to release as 
sober ?" inquired the superintendent. " Wake up Tom," 
said the mend, slily kicking the drunkard ; " wake up 
my boy." " Go tell," groaned the bacchanal, opening his 
eyes for a moment, and lunging backward in an effort to 
sprawl on the floor. It was too much for the superintend- 
ent. " Oh, take him back where he came from," he said 
impatiently, and the curtain fell. 



TO A CHILD WAKING FROM SLEEP. 



" And where have you been, my darling ? 

And why do your great blue eyes 
Look wond'ringly round on all things, 

As if in a strange surprise ?" 

Ah ! could she but speak, we should hear her say : 
" I've wandered in dreamland, so far away, 
I'd nigh forgotten this mortal earth, 
And the doting mother who gave me birth. 
But your sweet caresses recall me now, 
As I feel your lips on my childish brow. 
As your tender hands through my ringrets creep. 
Mother, I only have been asleep. 

" And what have you seen, my darling, 

What visions of sunny skies 
Have flitted athwart your soul, that now 

They shine in your waking eyes f 

" Oh ! mother, I've been where the roses bloom, 
And violets scatter their sweet perfume. 
Where sunbeams linger from morn till night, 
'Till the fruit grows ripe in their mellow light. 
Where gentlest of fragrant zephyrs blow, 
Where the wild bird's warbling is soft and low, 
Where clearest streamlets murmuring leap. 
Mother, I only have been asleep. 

" And who have you met, my darling ? 

What beauteous forms were they 
That left their semblance upon your brow 

In your journey so far away ? 



TO A CHILD WAKING FKOM SLEEP. 07 



" I wandered dear mother, with cherubs there 
Whose laughing eyes, and whose golden hair, 
Were fairer far than I e'er can tell, 
And their angel radiance on me fell 
As we wandered together, hand in hand, 
Through flowers and sunlight, a happj band ; 
Such bright companions I fain would keep, 
But mother, I only have been asleep. 

" May it ever be thus, my darling, 

May those wee little hands and feet 
Ne'er find companions less cheery, 
. Or wander 'mid flowers less sweet." 



AN ACROSTIC. 



FKOM A CHILD TO SANTA CLAUS. 



Say, Santa Claus — my pa has told me 

A funny story of yourself ; 

Now tell me this, I pray don't scold me ! 

Tell me — are you a tiny elf, 

An ugly monster, or a jolly. 

Corpulent, little red-faced fellow ? 

Let me know ! pray forgive my folly, 

Are you white, blacky blue, brown or yellow ? 

Upon my little knees T pray — 

Say, Santa Claus, who are you ? say. 



SOPHRONISSIMA ; OR, THE VAGROM'S 
COMPREHENSION. 



I. 

'Twas dewy morn. A gallant youth of twenty-two 
springs might have been seen by his landlady or washer- 
woman (nobody else cared to see him) passing with 
melancholy gait along the magnificent Roo de Poydras 
'Twas Gustavus Alphonso. Reared from an infancy in 
which poor and honest parents had exhausted upon him 
their fullest muscular abilities, he had at the romantic age 
of ten, voluntarily sought the paths of music and 
literature, by vending song books. Sweet child ! Cast- 
ing aside the trammels of an obscure birth, he had pressed 
onward and upward, ever aspiring, ever inscribing 
"Excelsior" upon his victorious banners, until we find 
fortune smiling upon his efforts and rewarding his genius 
with the responsible position of second clerk of a peanut 
stand. " Ha-ha ! " had he exclaimed on the day the ofiice 
was tendered him. "Now indeed this cold, artless 
wor-r-rld shall know Gustavus Alphonso. 

Did I say that, on this dewy morn, he was melancholy ? 
I did, and I repeat it. He owed money to his landlady, 
residing in a palatial mansion on Corduroy Alley. He 
had guv her his note, and just as sure as the dew fell that 
morning, that morning the note fell due. " Heavings ! " 
he exclaimed ; "can this be what the poets call grief? 



f> SOPHEONISSIMA ; OR, THE VAGEOm's COMPREHENSION. 69 



Why these brains to feel — these hearts to think ? Alas ! 
for my impetuous impecuniosity — it is, it is." 

He entered the Poydrassian Market. Seating his 
aristocratic figure upon a stool before a coifee stand, 
" What ho, Giovanni," he cried, " come hither, thou de- 
generate descendant of the Latin kings, and bring me in 
thy dainty digits a steaming cup of aromatic Mocha." 

'Twas brought, aye, brought. He sipped, he drank, 
and with the beverage his soul did warm. Throwing 
down a dime, his very last, with easy grace upon the 
counter, " Take thy gold, tradesman," he shouted ; " and 
now — and now — relentless landlady, inexorable dame, 
widow of the lamented Pat McFudge ( whose nose was 
bit off on the levee some years ago, from which he died 
of it), now, remorseless female, I go to meet thee, 
Aha, aha !" 

(If dramatized, use blue lights at this juncture.) 

II. 

The widow McFudge was a gentle creature of two 
hundred and ten pounds weight. Her nose brightly 
beamed upon all who enquired the price of board and 
apartments in her two-story brick caravan sera, in the 
precincts of the boulevard Corduroy. She kept her house 
thoroughly upon the you-rope-in-style ; every one could 
order what he liked — and if he didn't get it went with- 
out — the house in a hurry. 



70 SOPHRONISSIMA ; OK, THE VAGROM's COMPREHENSION. 

1^0 w and then the amiability of the fair hostess and her 
delicate health combined to induce her to indulge in 
artificial stimulants. Upon such occasions, the care of 
the establishment devolved upon her orfling niece, 
Sopronissima Snoozewell, a gushing young maiden of 
thirty-one. In such a moment, when serving him with 
hash one morning at breakfast, had she won the love of 
Gustavus Alphonso. " Soffy," he had said in endearing 
terms, " Soffy dear, accept the 'art of an unappreciated 
child of genius. Tergether we'll soar to the peaks of the 
Halps, or like Claude Duval — no ! Melnotte, and his 
Pauleen — we'll seek some quiet spot, and live there for 
some years. Oh, heavings, Soffy, why answers thou not 
me frantic prayer? " 

" Yes, but whose a goin to pay expenses there and 
back ?" had answered Sopronissima inquiringly, a thought- 
ful hesitation upon her classic brow, as she poured hot 
water into the tea-pot. 

" Me — me — your own Gustavus Alphonso." 

" Then thou art yours or I am mine forever," she had 
replied and fainted, her head falling into the butter dish. 

^' And now," murmured Gusta^nis, '' now for — for — for 
— some hash." 

III. 

But to return from our transgression. The mellifluous 
orb of day { otherwise known as old Sol ) was diffusing 



SOPHEONISSIMA ; OR, THE VAGKOm's COMPKEHENSION. 71 

^ — - — 

his incandescent beams about twenty minutes of nine on 
the eventful morning upon which our story opens, when the 
doors of the McFudge House were burst rudely open, and 
Gustavus Alphonso entered, his eyes rolling in fine poetic 
frenzy, crying aloud, " Where is she ? I must see her. 
Conduct me to her immejitly." Some ladies of the 
neighborhood, who had called in to take their morning 
glass of whisky with the amiable widow McFudge, 
knocked the ashes from their clay pipes, and said " Who is 
this gentleman ?" 

'' A child of genius, ladies," he answered, " seeking her 
who would devour him. Can'st tell me where is Lady 
McFudge?" 

" I am here," shouted a stentorian voice. " Behold 
your injured landlady." 

( IS^. B. — This was true : she had fell down the back 
stairs the night before and injured herself considerable.) 

Around him Gustavus Alponso drew his coat ; from his 
pocket drew a thousand dollars. " Name my diabolical 
liabilities, madam," said he, in fiercest tones. " Them 
notes, them notes, projuce them." 

She did. 

" I pay thee this ; here take thy money," shrieked 
Alphonso, tearing the notes into a million pieces, and 
staggering to the kitchen door where he trod upon the 
tail of Sofiy's pet tom-cat, which he set up a howling and 
brought his fair young mistress to the scene. 



72 SOPHRONISSIMA ; OR, THE VAGROm's COMPREHENSION. 



Her hair was in curl jyapers. 

"Aha, false one, I know thee now. The ball ! this night ! 
thy hair curling ! I see — I see it all ; and now me cry is 
vengence !'' 

The ladies by the tire-place stood aghast. Soffy burst 
into tears. " I don't know nothin' about you," she said, 
"away wicked man ; depart, receiver of young female 
hearts ; reducer of virtuous beauty. Thy fiendish charms 
can't no longer ensnare me soul. Away ! Away !" 

" Beware, young woming," screamed Alphonso shaking 
a fifty before her astonished vision, " thou'st rashly, reck- 
lessly risked relentless revenge. I go. I go ! But thou 
shall hear from Gustavus Alphonso." 

She saw the magic flutter of the greenback. It stole 
over her ( five ) senses, as the gushing tones of a hand 
organ over a slumbering colored person. " Come back," 
she cried in accents wild, " Gustavus, oh Gustavus." But 
not seeing him return after a reasonable time, fainted. 

lY. 

Them people who are imacquainted with the use of 
money, knows generally nothing of the use of it. Shaks- 
peare and the other historians tells us that money is a 
good thing to have about the house, and it therefore be- 
comes necessary to relate how the hero of this pretty little 
tale come by the money in question, which he paid his 
bill with it, and shook a fifty in the false fair's face. But 



J SOPHRONISSIMA ; OR, THE VAGEOm's COMPEEnENSION. 73 

why dilate ? E-ushing forth that morning from the mar- 
ket he had encountered a noble colored man, who was 
running for Kongress, and who had drawn his bounty 
money from the freedman's bureau. 

" Come hither, son of Afric," said he, in ke-indest tones, 
" dost know me f 

" Don' 'no nuffin' 'bout ye," was the haughty reply. 

"I am the benefactor of thy race — I am Phillips." 

"Ha ! is you Wennel Phillips, uh ?" 

" 'Tis he. I come to relieve you of all the burdens 
which fill your heart ( and pocket )." 

Suffice it to say, that in the brief space of fifteen 
minutes, gentle reader, the relief came, and Gustavus 
soared on love's pinions toward his Soffy's abode. 

But now he had found she was false to him, Alas! 
Alas ! 

V. 

'Twas a sweet night in July, the soft hum of the 
whipperwill, mingled with the odor of the night bloom- 
ing cereus, came born upon the noctuous air as two lovers 
clinging tenderly to each other's arms wandered carelessly 

through the broken railing of L Square, and seated 

themselves upon one of the elaborately carved iron sofas 
which a beneficent city had provided for their entertain- 
ment. 

She was lovely. The beauty of her regular Grecian 
face was marred by no Grecian bend. She wore a Swiss 



74 SOPHRONISSIMA ; OK, THE VAGROm's COMPREHENSION. 

tulle, trimmed with mauve brocade and ornamented witli 
pompadours de chambrey. Upon her head, shrouding 
her features, was a blue cotton veil. Who was this 
elegant creature ? " She twirled her kid glove ( size 8 ) 
quite mournfully in her left hand. Heavings, 'twas 
Sophronissima. 

Strange as this may seem, disgusted though indulgent 
reader, 'twas indeed she. But a stranger was the man 
who was with her this balmy night. Was it Gustavus ? 
you ask with a shudder. It was not — alas — alas. 

The music and merry feet were issuing from the win- 
dows of an opposite Hall, for there was a ball there, 
and Soffy was goin', but had just stepped into the square 
to compose herself. He had proposed. 

Ah ! what bliss. This gentle stranger had come to Mrs. 
McFudge's that morning to take refuge from a heartless 
policeman who had sought to arrest him for picking 
pockets. Sophronissima's eyes had lit upon his manly 
frame. '^ 'Twas enuff," she said, " ajoo, Gustavus ; 'ence- 
forth me 'art is another's." And to Rodolphus she had 
blighted her vowels. 

But as they sat there a dark form lurked behind a 
circumjacent tree ; and a sound as of crackling peanuts at 
the theatre, might have been heard. Sotfy started. 
"" Methought," she said, " I erd the vojce of one who is 
me enemy." 

" Do but show me the traitor," muttered Rodolphus, 



SOPHKONISSIMA ; OK, THE VAGKOM's COMPREHENSICN. 75 



and his countenance is doomed to disfigurement, his eyes 
to mayhem, his nose and ear to the impress of my murder- 
ous rodents." 

The dark form approached, and nearer came the terrific 
crash of peanuts. It stood before them. 

'' 'Tis then thus thou," it said, and throwing back a 
heavy cloak of dark velvet disclosed the plowed and 
harrowed liniments of Gustavus. 

" Further disguise is useless," he shrieked, and now for 
war." 

Rodolphus caught the fainting, screaming lady in his 
arms, and gently deposited her sinking form on the grass. 
'' What sayst thou, base hireling ? Who art thou ? " 

" Aha, sirrah, thy foe Gustavus Alphonso. This card 
will tell thee all. Here," and he handed his card. 

"I know thee not, but I will mur-r-rder-r-r thee," 
shouted Rodolphus. 

" Come on traitor, I defy thee." 

Softy come to, right away. " Oft', deceiver," she 
screamed, '* nor molest my angelic Rodolphus." 

''And thou," uttered Alphonso, in accents wild, tearing 
the chignon from her classic head, '' get thee oft", for the 
battle is nigh." 

And so was the policeman — inexorable justice, whether 
coming in the form of a special ofiicer or a bench warrant 
— which the policeman seized Rodolphus. 

But our story has gone too far. 'Tis well, 'tis well. 



OVER THE SEAS. 



Here, as I sit on the sands. 
Looking far over the sparkling sea, 
Dancing and rippling in merry glee, 
Beauteous and bright are the visions I see ; 

Visions of sunny and distant lands 
My wandering fancy brings to me. 

Visions of waving palms 
Nodding their tops to the spicy breeze, 
As it lullingly whispers amid the trees. 
Greet me from over the laughing seas ; 

Zephyrs laden with fragrant balms. 
And dreamy odors which soothe and please. 

Crystal and azure lakes. 
Scattered as stars o'er the sky at night, 
Glitt'ring like gems thro' the landscape bright. 
Hills with their summits bathed in light. 

And snow-clad beauty which ne'er forsakes 
The shadowy top of each cloud-capped height. 

Maidens with laughing eyes, 
Gathering flowers, thro' the meadows rove. 
Or, crowned with wreaths which their fair hands wove, 
Sport with wild mirth in each shady grove ; 

And then as each wreath of flow'rets dies, 
They smile, and call it a type of love. 

Thus, as I sit on the sands. 
Visions of beauty around me play. 
Clad in the haze of this summer's day. 
Pausing awhile on their shadowy way ; 

And I look and long for those distant lands, 
Smiling and sunny and far away. 



A LOUISIANA BAYOU SCENE. 



Rumors came that in a dull, sluggish, bayou, flowing 
through cypress swamps and willow groves, not ten 
miles away, there was to be had an abundance of perch 
and pike, such as even the venerable Izaak might not 
have despised. Accordingly, behold a party of four of 
us, at sunrise, taking the ferry-boat at the stock-landing 
and crossing to G-retna, on the opposite side of the river. 
Baskets of provisions and tackle, tapering bamboo poles, 
and the indispensable black bottle, make up the equip- 
ments. The ferry-boat puffs and snorts as the rapid 
current carries her some distance below the point where 
she would be. The engineer is at his post ; above the 
door of his engine-room a sign, '' 'No admittance except 
on biz." 

We land and meet half a score of half-naked young 
negroes, of ages varying from sixteen to twenty, each 
demanding, in no gentle tone, '' Have a tow, sir ? " 
" Want a boat ?" We single out one of these, remark- 
able chiefly for .his breadth of mouth, and, replying afiir- 
matively, are conducted to the head of Harvey's Canal, 
two hundred yards distant, only separated by the high 
levee bank from the river. It is a narrow strip of water 



78 A LOUISIANA BAYOU SCENE. 

running- directly back from the river, extending like a 
silver band as far as the eye reaches, and fringed on either 
side with a luxuriant verdure. It was dug some twenty- 
five years since by him whose name it bears, and who 
now resides hard by, in a mansion, and upon an estate, of 
princely elegance, its object being to open direct com- 
munication with Barrataria Bay from the river, through a 
bayou into which the canal empties at a distance of six miles 
from the Mississippi. But unfortunately, the proprietor 
has never yet obtained from the authorities permission to 
construct a lock at the head of the canal, tlirough which 
boats may enter from the river, and, as a consequence, the 
entei^rise, though within an inch of its completion, re- 
mains to be used as a very convenient highway for the in- 
habitants of the back country, and for those who, like the 
writer, would pass through it to the sport beyond. 

A number of skiffs are moored here, and into one of 
these we step, carefully, even tenderly, depositing the 
baskets where sun and moisture cannot reach them. A 
short distance oif, the Opelousas Hailroad bridge crosses, 
and, as we pull under its shadow, we inwardly hope there 
may be no passing train to rattle the dust into our eyes. 
]^ow the oars are shipped, and the broad-mouthed 
Ethiopian, mounted upon a lazy mule, throws us a long 
line, one end of which is fastened to his saddle, while the 
other we make fast to our light little craft. The mule 
breaks off into a sleepy jog ( the tow path here is twenty 



A LOUISIANA BAYOU SCENE. 79 

feet above our heads,) and we shoot off, the water rippling 
noisily away from under the bow. Ah ! this is glorious 
laziness, and our Jehu above there drives his heels into 
the mule's sides, guffawing from glee as he goes. It is 
only seven o'clock in the morning ( how sound asleep we 
usually are at this hour,) and the unwonted exercise has 
given an appetite which suggests breakfast time. So the 
baskets are opened, and from their recesses come ham 
sandwiches, soft shell crabs, and many other dainties which 
the forethought of those dear ones at home has provided. 

!N^ow and then, upon the banks we see grouped two or 
three of the newly-enfranchised, reveling in the luxuries 
incidental to landing their favorite catfish. The bank 
gradually becomes lower as we progress, and is now but a 
foot above the level of the water. Blackberry bushes, 
brilliant with their ripening fruit, line the canal on either 
side, willow and cypress and pine trees are in the back- 
ground, while, under the shade of overhanging grass on 
the margin, crocuses and lilies hide their modest heads. 
In the water, minnows dart hither and thither in thou- 
sands, a wily moccasin, now and then, stops in his transit 
to watch us, and the great gar-fish leaps up ahead, splash- 
ing the water into a foam with his black finny back. 

]^ow the tow-path ends, and our mule and driver go 
galloping back to the starting point, with instructions to 
report at four o'clock. Now we take to the oars again ? 
a mile or two more, traveled in snail ish contrast with our 



previous rate of locomotion, bring us to Bajon St. John, 
or Bajon Barrataria (either name will do) into which, 
crossing the line of the canal at right-angles, we emerge 
as from a narrow lane upon a broad highway. !Now we 
are near the waters made historical by the adventures 
of the pirate Laiitte; here it was that, weary of the 
seas, he and his companion-freebooters in the ancient 
French and Spanish territorial days repaired to 
rest for a while from the chase for booty, and count 
and secrete their treasures. Half a dozen old hulks 
and barges lie moored or sunken at the mouth of 
the canal, and, further to the left, lies a little steamer, old- 
fashioned and dismantled. In front frowns a thick forest 
of moss-covered pines, with an undergrowth of swamp 
vegetation, all but impregnable to human access. We 
turn to the right and see signs of civilization. Two or 
three cabins, little wharves washed by the ripples, a huge 
low-roofed sawmill, with its unceasing clatter and jets of 
escaping steam, and far in the distance, here and there, 
skiffs and wherries, each with their party of fishers, like 
ourselves, make up the scene, beautifully encased in a 
frame work of luxurious green. And the hushed peace- 
fulness of the place, broken only by the whir of the saw- 
mill, the far-off shout of some successful angler, or the 
whistling of some swamp bird of brilliant plumage flying 
overhead, make us regret and almost forget that the noisy 
city and its daily toil are but two hours away. 



A LOUISIANA BAYOU SCENE. 81 

Rowing on through these woodland shades, each dip of 
the oar recalls that sad story of Evangehne, who through 
such a scene wandered in search of Gabriel, herheloved. 
Longfellow's description of a Louisiana bayou is a perfect 
pen-picture. On yonder bank, it may have been that 
Gabriel was sleeping, while his loving and beloved Acadian 
maiden, after years of search, murmured, " something says 
in my heart that near me Gabriel wanders," and then 
passed sighing on, to years of gloomy repining. 

But for such thoughts and memories as this, what care 
these two happy mokes, w^ho seated in a small boat, with 
a lateen sail spread, come down the bayou before the 
wind, one of them at the helm, the other seated in the 
shade of the canvass, his chin deep in his left shoulder, 
and his right arm vigorously plying the bow across the 
strings of a rusty Cremona ? Here is happiness for you. 
The artist is a spectacle by the way. A straw hat twenty 
years old, if a day, adorns his head, green goggles protect 
his eyes, and, as he answers a passing salute, in a basso- 
profundo which would drive Carl Formes to envy, there 
is a laughable lisp in his " How you wath to-day, thars ?" 

!Now we are at the fishing ground, and we moor our 
boat at a landing consisting of a huge log extending into 
the tide. In the door of a cabin, newly built, not fifty 
feet off*, stands a man in white shirt and trousers and 
straw hat. He is glad to see us, evidently, though this is 
our first meeting. "Anything further from the elec- 



82 A LOUISIANA BAYOU SCENE. 



tions ?" he asks, and having received in reply the morning 
papers, offers straightway the hospitahties of his ranche. 
He is evidently a character. His name is Murphy, and 
he has invented a hemp-breaking machine. He is a 
monomaniac, like all inventors — has his particular hobby, 
" hemp ! hemp ! hemp !" and has leveed in five hundred 
acres of this swamp for cultivation of his favorite product. 
It is curious to hear him spout Latin out here in these 
solitudes, and to hear him broach theories subversive of 
half the doctrines to which we have been brought up 
from childhood. He is a go-a-head American, though, 
every inch of him, and is li\dng out here firmly believing 
that there is as much wealth for him in yonder swampy 
ground, as if he were to exhume some of Lafitte's buried 
gold. 

But, Mr. Murphy, we came to fish, and can't listen all 
day to your philosophizing. The fish respond to our call ; 
black-perch, sun -fish, crabs, snakes, slmpecks, and all, 
come dangling through the air, and are landed on terra 
fir^na. This is certainly as splendid sport as we could 
have wished, and, this time, there is no Jonah in the 
party. The amusement soon becomes a labor, so success- 
ful are we, and keen appetite again reminds us that dinner 
time has come. Under a spreading tree we sit down, and 
conclude the repast begun in the morning. Then to fish 
again, while the elder Murphy emerges from his cabin, 
arrayed in gorgeous apparel, and, accompanied by the 



A LOUISIANA BAYOU SCENP]. 83 



younger Murphy, a tall, well-built youth of twenty, jumps 
into a boat, hoists his sail, and saying, '' Good day, gentle- 
men," is off for New Orleans. 

And shortly after, we follow them, traversing the same 
watery path whose matinal beauties had charmed with 
their novelties and freshness. Our trusty Ethiopian, his 
mule exchanged for a rickety horse, awaits us at the desig- 
nated point, and so, as the sun goes down in the west, we 
stand once more on the bank of the mighty river, and 
weary, yet pleased with the lessons of the day, begin 
again to think fondly of home scenes and associations 
in the great city slumbering yonder in the sunset. 



'' Why," asked F. O., pointing to a parrot, '^ is that 
bird like honesty ?" and, without waiting for a reply, 
said : " Because it is the best poll I see." 



Query. — If a man writes on parchment, is he necessarily 
on the ram-page? 



A little darky, sucking molasses from a hogshead 
through a straw, is a vivid exempliiication of the fact that 
the sweetest joys are those taken sj/rup-titiouslj. 



THOMAS CAT IN TROUBLE. 



Within the precincts of Philippa Street 
Upon a housetop at the dead of night, 
Careless of war's alarm, a Thomas Cat 
Lay gently sleeping with extended paws, 
And visage calm as if it ne'er had known 
Those sanguinary conflicts, when the fur 
Had flown, disastrously. 

Most plump was he, 
And healthy, this grim prowler of the night. 
For frequent forays on the larder he 
Was famed, nor had the housewife's broomstick left 
Unscarred his cuticle. That very day, 
Detected whilst purloining, he had fled 
And she pursued, aiming the while a brick 
Which struck him on the caudal and evoked 
A cry of mingled rage and agony. 
As dashing o'er the cellar wall he cleared 
The distance at a bound, and thence had sped 
Him to the housetop, where beyond the reach 
Of retribution, he devoured his prey 
And fell asleep. 

But as he slumbered there 
A roguish boy had spied his prostrate form. 
From out a window that o'er-looked the roof. 
And straightway formed a diabolic plan 
To work his ruin. To this evil end 
The youngster did .procure a bit of cheese, 
Aflixed it to a hook of sharpest steel. 
Attached thereto a fishing line and pole. 
Then sent the dainty morsel dangling o'er 



THOMAS CAT IN TROUBLE. 



85 



Tlie nasal organ of the slumbering Tom, 
Concealed himself the while yet peering out 
Each little while to watch the sad result. 



The mouser shuddering woke. Some game was near ; 

His optics opened wide — the cheese he saw, 

He jumped, he bit, he screamed ow-yeouw-wiaow-wiaow- 

Alas, within his ever hungry jaw 

The treacherous hook had caught and now too late. 

He sees the youngster, grinning with delight, 

Proceed to pull him in. His plaintive cries 

Resounded far and near, and from their lairs 

Behind the chimneys and in courtyards dark 

Came, summoned by unearthly crieG of woe. 

Tabbies and Toms unnumbered, all rejoiced 

To witness in distress their common foe. 

Meanwhile, the urchin tugging at his prize. 

Had in the process managed to evoke 

From Tom a series of such plaintive yells 

That heaven and earth re-echoed with their sound. 

And from the neighboring windows came a shower 

Of bottles, brushes, missiles of all kinds. 

Aimed by awakened sleepers at the head 

Of Thomas. 

Thus it was, that as the boy 
Convulsed with laughter paused to catch his breath, 
He lost his hold, and lo, the mouser sped 
With winged feet along the rT-iddy height. 
Dragging the pole behind him as he went ; 
Nor paused until within the shade 
Of steeple high and broad he drew his rein 
And waited till the coming light of morn 
Should bring to his assistance some true friend 
To free him from his sad predicament. 



THE STORY OF THE CHURCH TOWER. 



I. 

A sum of money had been stolen. 

Such was the information given me early one morning 
by my very particular friend and crony, Joe Warren. 
He and I had been flogged together at school, had taken 
our first beer together in Freshman year at college, and 
graduating together, each with a better reputation for 
good-fellowship than for scholarship, had both of us 
settled down in the quiet seaport town of M — , where he 
had embarked in business as junior member of the 
forwarding and commission firm of Travis & Co., and I 
had leisurely devoted myself to Blackstone and Kent. 

I was then occupying bachelor's rooms on High street. 
Joe lived at home with his mother and sisters, but visited 
me regularly. I was not therefore particularly surprised 
when, on the morning in question, he came rushing up 
stairs two steps at a time, and, without knocking, entered 
and shut the door with a slam behind him. 

I was taking breakfast at the time. My matronly 
landlady but a few moments before had deposited on the 
table the waiter with its snow-white napkin, its hot 
coffee, rolls and boiled eggs, all scrupulously arranged in 



THE STOKY OF THE CHURCH TOWEK. 87 



tlieir customary corners. As Joe entered, I remember I 
held in each hand half an egg-shell reversed over the 
glass, into which the contents had fallen. His sndden 
entry did not cause me to desist from my occupation with 
any inordinate haste. 

" Morning, Joe ; draw up a chair," I said, looking up. 

As I did so, I saw in his face an expression of unusual 
anxiety. 

" Why, what's the matter ?" I added. 

" A sum of money has been stolen," he answered, 
looking at me in a sort of bewildered manner. 

" Come, my good friend, keep cool," said I, " Sit down 
and tell me what is really the matter." 

" Gone, sir, gone! — $3000 and over !" he replied. 

I put down the egg shells, rose and walked to where 
he stood. " Joe," said I, putting my hands upon his two 
broad shoulders, '' sit down." 

Mechanically he sank into a chair; I drew up another 
facing him. "Are you cool?" said I. He nodded. 
" Then let's hear the whole story." 

" Yery well," he began ; " but first strict secrecy I 
must enjoin. 'No one but myself knows what has 
happened. I went down to the ofiice this morning, as I 
usually do on Mondays, a little earlier than usual ; un- 
locked the door, went in, opened the shutters, and 
awaited the arrival of the boy who sweeps out the place 
every morning. It so happened he was a little late to-day. 



88 THE STORY OF THE CHUKCH TOWER. 

I was walking up and down from corner to corner, 
whistling the moments away, when I suddenly spied 
upon the floor, near the sofa,' what appeared to he part of 
a hank check. Stooping to pick it up, I found it was 
what I supposed. I took it to the window, where I 
could see more distinctly, 'sford' was all I could read 
upon it, written in a bold hand. Impatiently I sprans* 
to the safe and picked up another fragment from the 
floor. Upon this I found a part of a stamp, with the 
letter W written on it by the cancellor. In a moment it 
flashed over me, " Weathersford." On Saturday evening, 
after banking hours, Allan Weathersford, who does 
business opposite, had given us his check for two hundred 
and fifty dollars or thereabouts, in payment of our 
interest in a consignment of merchandise, and this check 
I was certain I had deposited in the cash box and locked 
up inside the safe. To try the door of the latter was my 
next thought. It was fast; there was no sign of its 
having been touched since I locked it and put the keys in 
my pocket last Saturday evening. To unlock the iron 
door and peep in was the work of another moment. 
The cash box was gone^ 

" You are perfectly certain of it ?" I said inquiringly. 

" Perfectly certain." 

" And the keys of the safe have not been out of your 
possession since Saturday evening ?" 

"Not a moment." 



THE STORY OF THE CHUKCH TOWEK. 89 

" How much money was there in the box?" 

*' There was Weathersford's check, say $250. Two five 
hundred dollar bills that I ^Vas to have paid Captain A., 
who sails for New York at eight this morning. A package 
of fifty twenties. Three hundred dollars in gold that the 
mate of the Good Hope had deposited late Saturday 
afternoon, his vessel having just arrived from the 
Mediterranean ; and then, let me see, some smaller 
amounts. I know I figured it all up on my way here. 
It must amount to at least three-thousand dollars." 

I walked up and down the room two or three times, 
thinking the matter all over. " Joe," said I, '^can you 
get a duplicate check from Weathersford f 

" Possibly," said he. 

'^ Do it, then. What time does Mr. Travis get down ?" 

" Never before ten o'clock." 

" Good," I answered ; " and Weathersford ?" 

" I never knew him to be later than seven, old as he is." 

"Well, then, listen. We'll catch this sly thief; but 
everything depends on secrecy. How much ready money 
have you got outside of your business ? 

" Precious little," answered Joe, wonderingly. " Not 
over a thousand." 

" Then I intend to lend you some." 

" Nonsense, George. I won't have it." 

" But hear me. I am willing to invest the amount of 
two thousand with Travis & Co. I have saved that 
mach and more during the past three years." 



90 THE STORY OF THE CHUKCH TOWEK. 

" I won't hear of it." 

" N^ot a word. You will wlien you find what I am up 
to. Kow go you straightway to your office. Say not a 
word to a soul. Keep your safe locked. Leave your 
keys here, you'd better, so you can postpone opening the 
safe for an hour or two. Go over to old Weathersford. 
If necessary, let him into our plan ; but at all events get 
the duplicate check. It is now half-past seven. ITot a 
moment to lose, if you mean to pay Capt. A. those two 
five hundred dollar bills before he leaves." 

Joe went down stairs in a hurry, as I had bidden him. 
I saw him around the corner, and was out myself. Three 
or four squares away I had occasionally noticed a money- 
broker's shop in passing. Thither I hurried. The boy 
was just taking down the shutters. " Is your master in ?" I 
asked hurriedly ? ''At breakfast," he answered. " Well 
then, call him." In rushed the boy and out rushed the 
broker, napkin in hand. He was a florid faced, stout, 
elderly man, of short stature and smiling countenance. 
"Well sir," said he " what can I do for you so early this 
morning?" "How is gold?" I asked, hurriedly. 
" Thirty-five and three-eighths last evening," he answered. 
" Have you five hundred of it ?" " Just that much," he 
answered, in a very business-like manner. "Do you 
wish to purchase ?" " Yes, sir," answered I. 

In ten minutes more I was laboring along with two 
heavy bags, one in each hand, towards the establishment 



THE STOKY OF THE CHURCH TOWEK. 91 

of Travis & Co. In mj pocket, too, were two five 
hundred dollar notes, which the broker had given me in 
exchange for smaller ones-. As I tm-ned the corner 
nearest my destination, a sea-faring looking man went 
brushing by up the street, grumbling something about 
"leaving keys at home, no way to do business." I 
laughed in my sleeve. 

Joe was standing in the door. Ko one but the sweep 
had yet arrived. " The mate of the Good Hope has just 
been in," he said, "" and grumbled like the deuce about 
that gold of his. I told him to come back in an hour 
and I'd have the safe open. He wanted to take the 
eight o'clock train." 

'* He can do it," I said, '' Boy, run as fast as you can 
up street and tell that man with the pea jacket and fur 
hat to come back. The keys have come." 

The boy was off like a flash. 

" iSTow Joe, old fellow, here's the gold. Xot a word — 
it's counted all right — saw it counted myself. Let the 
man have it when he comes." 

Puffing and out of breath returned the boy and the 
pea jacket. " Came, did they ?" said the latter. 

"Yes," I said with a laugh, "here's the money." 

" Xot my money," he said, eyeing the bags. 

" Five hundred in'gold; I'll swear to it." said I. 

" All right, gentlemen ! Travis & Co.'s word's good 
for a thousand bags like these. ]^ow I'll be off in a hin-ry 
to catch that train. Good morning." 



92 THE STORY OF THE CHURCH TOWER. 



'• He's disposed of anyhow," said I ; " How about 
Weathersford ?" 

" Hasn't got down yet. This morning, of all others, 
he's behind time. There he comes now, said Joe, and oft 
he went to meet him. 

A gentlemanly looking person with full beard, rather 
sunburned face, very well dressed, and with an agreeable 
manner, just then came in. 

" Mr. Warren not here ?" said he, pulling out his 
watch. 

I pretended to be very busy. " Gone out, sir," I said. 
'^ Is there anything I can attend to for you ?" 

" Perhaps — yes," was the reply. I sail for New York 
at eight o'clock and wanted to get a draft on this house 
cashed before I leave, if possible ; I can't understand how 
Mr. Warren can have forgotten this matter." 

" Are you Capt. A. ?" 

" I am, sir." 

" He did not forget it," I said ; " I have the money 
here to cash the draft ; one thousand is the amount, I 
believe ?" 

"Yes." 

" And you wanted it in two live hundred dollar notes ?" 
■ " Yes, if convenient ?" 

" There they are, captain." 

He folded them up, put them in his vest pocket, looked 
at his watch again. " Jupiter !" said he. " I've but five 



THE STORY OF THE CHURCH TOWER. 93 

minutes time ; tell Joe Warren I left my regards for him ; 
good bye t'ye." 

Joe was just then coming out of Weathersford's ; he 
saw the Captain and called to him to stop. 

" Good bye, Joe, old fellow," said the captain, as he 
ran ; " havn't got time to stop ; see you next trip." 

And Joe, giving up the chase, came in, threw down 
the duplicate check, and said, '^ There we are." 

" Did you tell Weathersford ?'.' I asked. 

" 'No, he did'nt ask, only supposed we had lost it." 

" Good ! good !" said I ; " now the gold is paid, Capt. 
A. is paid — here is the check — you have enough cash of 
your own to make good the balance, havn't you ?" 

'' About enough." 

" Then," said I, " you'd better open the safe." 

I know not which of us was the happier about that 
time. Joe and I had known each other too long and well 
to stop for any of those conventional words of thanks 
which would have been expected from the lips of a 
stranger. I confess, too, we were both of us a little be- 
wildered with our heavy morning's work. 

" Go ahead with business just as if nothing had hap- 
pened, Joe ;" I said, ^' and come around to supper with 
me this evening." 

" I'll come," he said, mechanically, with his head bent 
over the safe lock, inspecting it closely. 

" I'll be there, George, at six o'clock." 



94 



THE STORY OF THE CHURCH TOWER. 



" Why, Mr. Colton, you didn't half eat your breakfast 
this morning," said the cheery voice of my landlady, as I 
mounted to my lodgings again. 

' 'No, I've been getting up an appetite though, Mrs. 
Snugley," I answered, closing the door. 



II. 

I lit my pipe, and taking a seat by the open window 
where I could view the street and the passers-by, fell to 
thinking of what I had done that morning. Now and 
then a momentary reflection stole over me, and whispered, 
" you're a fool to send your wits and your money wool 
gathering this way on the impulse of a single thought. 
Who would have done, or ever has done, as much for 
you ? !N"ow here this morning you have disbursed, nay 
perhaps thrown away, the neat little sum of sixteen 
hundred and ninety-one dollars and eighty-eight cents, 
with a very meager prospect of getting it back for some 
time to come, at least." 

!Now this thought I dismissed as often as it came. It 
only nerved my determination. " There has been a theft 
committed," I said, " so77iehcdy committed it. That 
somebody can be found, must be found, and now, having 
gone as far as I have in the matter, I am evidently the 
man to find him, or lose my money." 



■• THE STOKY OF THE CHFECH TOWER. 95 

Just then I heard the clock strike nine in the nei^rh- 
boring bell tower. " Can't idle this way all day, Mr. 
George," said I, aloud, rising and taking a final survey of 
the street below. My eye fell on a cab that was driving 
rapidly up the street. Within it, was a pea-jacket, and 
within that, the same individual to whom the two bags of 
my gold that morning had been paid. He has missed the 
train, I thought to myself, and then I went to studying. 

Joe came at the appointed time that evening, but looked 
very chopfallen and downcast. 

" Why, you take on terribly about this aifair," said I, 
after he had entered, and drawn up his chair to the table, 

" Can't help it," he said, resting his elbows on the table, 
his chm on his hands, and looking at me, as if imploring 
me to help him unravel the mystery. " Everything went 
wrong to-day ; Travis came down cross as a bear, because 
his pet Newfoundland was killed yesterday. There was a 
heavy fall in flour too, coming just after we ordered a 
large shipment. Look, I broke my watch guard, twirling 
it all day long with worriment." 

" What killed the Newfoundland?" 

" Poisoned, Travis says." 

" Don't know who did it I suppose ?" 

" No ; the servants say they saw a rough looking man 
hovering around the premises on Saturday night, and 
they set the dog on him. In the morning they found the 
poor brute lying dead on the door mat." 



96 THE STORY OF THE CHUKCH TOWER. 

'' Tell me, Joe," I said, '' who keeps the keys to your 
office?" 

"I do." 

" And you took them with you after locking up on 
Saturday night ?" 

" Yes and had them until this morning." 

" What kind of a lock is there on the safe ?" 

" Patent combination lock." 

" No one, then, can open it unless he knows the com- 
bination of letters with which it was last closed ?" 

" Of course not ; that's what makes the matter 
mysterious. I closed it on Saturday to the word ' Be- 
ware.' It opened to that same word this morning ; and 
yet the cash box was gone." 

" Very, very strange," thought I. " Do you never for- 
get the word with which you have closed it ?" 

'' I once did," answered Joe, " and had a locksmith 
that lives around the corner working for twenty-hours to 
get it open again. Since that I have kept a written list 
of words to be used on each day of the month." 

" And that list is ?" 

" In my pocket-book." 

" Be perfectly sure of it." 

He pulled out his pocket-book hurriedly. His cheeks 
turned ashen pale as he opened it. " Gone, by Jove," 
said he. " I had it last on Saturday evening. I remem- 
ber getting out my pocket book, taking the word from the 



THE STORY OF THE CHURCH TOWER. 97 

list, laying both book and paper down while I locked up. 
The mate came in just then with his gold, and I unlocked 
again on his account. I must have failed to replace the 
list in the pocket-book when I returned the latter to my 
pocket." 

'' And the mate — did he come out with you ?" 

"Yes. He appeared a little in liquor I thought. 
Every one else had gone, so I locked up and left him 
standing on the sidewalk before the store." 

" Were there any marks by which you could identify 
the stolen bills ?" 

" None ; but stay, I recollect one of the five hundred 
dollar bills was slit about an inch, and I pasted it together 
with a bit of tissue paper." For a few moments both of 
us looked up at the ceiling, uttering not a word. "Joe," 
I said finally, " you're tired out, you're miserable. Lie 
down on the sofa and take a nap. Make yourself perfectly 
easy in this matter. I think I've got our man picked 
out." 

" He was yawning even then. " Well," he said, "I've let 
you manage this matter so far, and you may as well go on 
after your own fashion. When you need assistance call 
on me," and lying down, as I had bidden him, he was soon 
asleep. 

Suspicion pointed unmistakeably toward the seafaring 
man, the mate of the Good Hope, I thought. The dis- 
appearance of the list of key-words, his presence in the 



98 THE STORY OF THE CnUi:CII TOWEK. 

office at the time, his willingness to accept the two new 
bags of gold that morning in place of the two he had de- 
posited, and his not having taken the train after all, though 
in such apparent haste to take it, all looked unfavorable to 
him. But, then, the safe lock ! Even knowing the key- 
word " Beware," how could this man have opened it ? 
how could he, moreover, who had not been an hour in 
port, have prepared a false key to admit him to the build- 
ing ? Then again, the ^Newfoundland had been poisoned 
at Travis's house. Might it not have been a part, though 
a misdirected one of the same plot ? Evidently, if this 
sailor committed the theft, he had a confederate, and one 
skilled in locks and keys. ^N'ow, would it not be well to 
see the locksmith, whom Joe had mentioned, and get his 
opinion, without, of course, giving him any clue to my 
object in asking it ? 

Acting upon the impulse, I put on my hat, left Joe 
sleeping soundly on the sofa, and hurrying down the 
street, soon found the locksmith's shop, a dingy, dirty 
little jDlace, redolent with the odor of onions from the 
occupant's abode in the rear. The proprietor was in the 
shop, filing away by candle-light ; nor did his features 
prepossess me, as, looking up from his work, he asked in a 
surly way, what I wanted. 

" Do you mend safe-locks ?" I asked. 

" Sometimes," he answered curtly. 



THE STORY OF THE CHURCH TOWER. 99 

" What will it cost me to have a combination lock of 
six letters put in thorough order ?" 

He looked at me closely for a few minutes, and I, 
eager, apparently, for information as to the probable cost, 
looked him back. My glance seemed to reassure him. 
" About seven dollars," he answered, and looked down 
again at his work. 

" And after it is once put in order you will guarantee 
that lao one but yourself or those to whom you may ex- 
plain the working, will be able to open it ?" 

'• I'll guarantee that, yes." I thought the answer was 
a little surly again. 

'^ Well, I may call again m the morning," said I turn- 
ing to go. 

The man called after me. " Perhaps you know Travis 
& Co. around the corner," said he. 

" I don't know Mr. Travis," said I. ^' Why ?" 

'' O, nothing, then ; I mistook you for some one I 
thought I had seen there." 

It was dark when I reached tne street, but looking back 
into the shop through the dingy glass window, I saw a 
woman's face bending over the locksmith and looking in- 
quiringly into his own. And at the neighboring gas 
lamp a man hurried by me ; I could have sworn it was 
the wearer of the pea jacket. I stopped and watched him. 
IJe entered the shop. 

" Joe," said I, shaking him, for when I got home he 



100 THE STORY OF THE CHURCH TOWER. 

was still sleeping, "Joe, 1 think that to-day we'll have 
them." 

" Them ?" he asked rubbing his eyes, " why, how many 
of them were there in it, pray ?" 

" Two, I think," said I, "for the present let me have it 
all to myself. You shall probably know it all to-morrow." 

So he bade me good night then and there, and I myself, 
dismissing the subject for a while, very speedily thereafter 
bade the whole world the same. 



III. 



My morning paper was left quite regularly by the 
carrier, as indeed for two successive New Year days last 
past that peripatetic juvenile had most practically re- 
minded me. Mrs. Snugley always brought it to my door 
})etimes in the morning, and on rainy days even took the 
trouble of holding it before the kitchen fire to dry before 
throwing it in through the transom light. To read it 
before rising was an invariable and to me a delightful 
habit. And so it was that on the morning following the 
event recorded in the preceding chapter, even before my 
recollections of them dispersed by sleep had fairly re- 
turned, I found my attention attracted by the following 
paragraph : 



THE STORY OF THE CHURCH TOWER. 101 



" Jack Ashore. — About ten o'clock last evening the denizens of the 
quiet neighborhood of Chippeway and Churchsteeple Streets were 
thrown into a state of unwonted e^:citement by loud cries of ' ship a hoy- 
oy-oy/ accompanied by a series of yellings, described as all but demoniac. 
The affrighted housewives, rushing to the doors or windows and 
peering out into the moonlight, were surprised at finding that the cries 
came from the vicinity of the church on the neighboring corner, and 
even appeared to proceed from the building itself. Two or three of 
the male residents of that vicinity hurried to the spot, and, upon 
coming nearer, found to their infinite amusement, an individual 
perched upon a ledge of the bell tower, only six or eight feet from the 
ground, clinging fast to an abutment vnih one hand, and with the 
other waving his hat and pea jacket as he cheered vociferously, ' Send 
us a boat won't ye ?' A ladder was brought, and the drunken man ,for 
such he was, having been, with, no little diflSculty, safely landed on 
terra firma, was conducted in a state of the utmost amiability and 
hilarious good humor, to the guard house, where he refused to give 
his name or occupation. His dress, conversation and general appear- 
ance indicate, however, unmistakably that he is one of those who go 
down to the sea in ships." 

Can this be the mate, thought I. If so, Avliat on earth 
was he doing in such a position? It had been about 
seven in the evening when I saw him dodge into the 
.locksmith's shop. There were then three hours in which 
he might have managed to get himself sufficiently 
inebriated to attempt, at ten, the feat of scaling the belfry. 
But then, there were plenty of seafaring men beside him- 
self in town. Yet, do they all wear pea-jackets ? Mr. 
Mate, said I mentally, your conduct for the last twenty- 
four hours has been just a little suspicious. Now, should 



102 THE STORY OF THE CHURCH TOWER. 

it prove that yoii are the individual referred to in this 
paragraph, those suspicions of you will be decidedly in- 
creased in my own mind. 

I dressed and walked out, telling Mrs. Snugley that I 
would be back by nine o'clock to breakfast. It was a foggy, 
disagreeable morning, and I found the sidewalks slippery 
with mud as I picked my way toward the police station, 
which was half a mile away from my lodgings. The old 
station clerk was dozing in his arm chair when I entered, 
but the banging of the door made him jump to his feet, 
perhaps in anticipation of the arrival of another prisoner. 
He rubbed his eyes and s^id mechanically, " Good 



morning." 



" Good morning to you, Mr. Clerk," I answered, " I see 
by the paper this morning that you have among your 
prisoners a sailor." 

" And a right jolly one, too, sir," he answered, burst- 
ing into a merry laugh. " He wanted to treat the turn- 
key and me and all the prisoners and free lodgers to 
champagne last night." 

I laughed too. "I called to ascertain," said I, " whether 
this good natured fellow is or is not a man with whom I 
am som.ewhat acquainted, and whose release, if it be he, I 
desire to procure." 

" He's asleep, now, sir. I was in there five minutes 
ago, and saw him lying on the floor, with his coat for a 
pillow, and snoring away like one of the bulls of Basan. 



THE STOKY OF THE CHURCH TOWEK. 103 

But you can go in and see. Jim, let this gentleman look 
in at cell Iso. 3." 

Jim rattled the key in the rusty lock, and I peeped 
through the grating within. There he was sure enough — 
the man to whom I had handed the two bags of gold, my 
gold ; the man who had wanted to catch the train ; the 
man whom I had seen in the cab, had seen enter the lock- 
smith's, and now saw, with his unkempt hair over his fore- 
head, sprawling on the prison floor. In another moment 
I was back in the station office. '' That's my man, Mr. 
Clerk," I said, " how can I procure his release ?" 

^' The magistrate's fine will be five dollars. Always is, 
in case of drunkenness. Leave that amount for payment 
when the case is called, and the prisoner can go." 

" All right," I answered, handing him a five dollar 
note. " ]S^ow, I desire that you say nothing to this man 
concerning the matter of his release. Wake him up, and 
tell him he can go — that is, as soon as I have time to get 
out of the building," and suiting the action to the word, I 
thanked the clerk for his civility, and departed. Turning 
the neighboring corner, I stopped and waited. Presently 
the mate came out with his head hung down, and passing 
me, turned his steps toward the church, where the ludi- 
crous scene reported had occurred on the previous night. 
I leisurely followed. 

The tower formed the corner of the two streets, and 
was constructed of rough-hewn granite. There was an 



104 THE STORY OF THE €HURCII TOWER. 

old tradition that the builder, being an irreligious scoffer, 
had at regular intervals in the structure on its front side, 
inserted stones fashioned as the ace of diamonds, clubs, 
spades and hearts, and pointing to them as the edifice 
rose, rudely called them the imprints of the devil's hand. 
Certain it was that tlie aces were there, and were in- 
variably pointed out to visitors, with the additional state- 
ment that from the summit of that very tower on the day 
the church was completed the builder had fallen to the 
pavement below and met his death. 

Before this tower the pea-jacket stopped, and here I 
stopped too, although I had noticed it a hundred times 
before, and, apparently unconscious of the other's presence, 
looked up mechanically at the ace of hearts which was 
nearest the base, and thence let my eyes wander to the 
ledges and pinnacles jutting out at intervals from the side. 
I observed that upon the four comers of each ledge (there 
were eight ledges as the tower tapered from the base to 
the summit) stood ornaments of stone, somewhat re- 
sembling an urn, or rather, perhaps a basin, and each set 
of them smaller than those on the ledge below. Those 
on the corners of the first ledge were, I judged, eight or 
ten inclies in diameter, and about twice that in depth. 
As I looked, a white string, dangling over the edge of 
one of them, fluttered in the wind and caught my atten- 
tion. 

" Up early this morning, mister," said he, rather sourly 



THE STORY OF THE CHURCH TOWER. 105 



I thought. He was looking very dirty and sleepy. His 
eyes were bloodsliot, his step unsteady, his glance nervous 
and uneasy ; and yet he was perfectly sober, I could see. 

" Why," said I, " you didn't catch the train, after all, 
eh ?" 

He started and appeared to remember the fact that he 
was to be supposed to have gone off on the previous 
morning. "I^o," he answered with an oath, ''I am 
going to-day, though, or to-morrow at farthest ; since 
I've had to stay, why a day more or less don't make much 
diiference, you know." 

" And have you any friends or acquaintances in town 
with whom you lodge meanwhile ?" 

" Not one," he answered. 

" And where did you manage to find a comfortable bed 
last night ?" 

"At a lodging house down ly the water," was the re- 

" Umph," thought I, '* he can lie without blinking. 
And," I added aloud, " you have risen early to take a 
morning view of the city under a fog, I suppose. By 
good chance your footsteps have brought you to its most 
interesting feature. In looking up you must have noticed 
the four stone aces inlaid in the tower wall." 

" ]^o," he said, nervously, lifting his eyes, as much 
to avoid mine, I thought, as to see what I pointed out. 
T told him the story of the builder. He grew fidgety 



and impatient with tlie recital. He wanted liquor I was 
well assured, but even an inordinate craving would hardly 
explain such uneasiness as he displayed, now looking up 
at the tower, now up and down the streets, and once in a 
while at me as I talked, 

"And," I concluded, " a funny fellow tried last night, 
I see by this morning's paper, to invite just such a fate. 
Have you heard about it ?" 

" ]^o," he said, with a look of surprise, '* These news- 
papers seem to get hold of everything." 

" It isn't to be expected any reporter would let such a 
laughable thing as this go by," I said. " Listen," and 
pulling out the paper from my pocket, I read the paragraph. 

He laughed, but a sickly laugh it was, dying in the 
corner of his lips. " I must be going," he said in a husky 
voice. " This d — d foggy atmosphere sickens me." 

" Well," said I, " good morning." 

I had no idea, however, of letting him go far Before 
he had taken three steps, my foot was on a projection of 
the tower, and my hand grasped the damp mossy ledge 
above it. 

" Why, what are you doing ? You are not diunk, as 
the man last night was, are you ?" he said, turning back, 
and even placing his hand on my leg, as if to dissuade me 
from ascending. . 

" Pshaw," I answered, looking down into his face, 
which now turned square and full toward me, and had a 



THE STORY OF THE CHURCH TOWER. 107 



shadow of evil in its expression. "I'm a great climber, 
and to get up a little appetite for breakfast have deter- 
mined to find out what that white cord that you see flut- 
tering yonder is doing there." 

" You shan't — you shan't," he said, almost in despera- 
tion. " Don't risk it. Let me go and bring it down for 
you." 

" IS'o, thank ,you," I said with assumed indifference, 
and lifting myself up to the ledge. " Here I am — safe, 
you see." 

He begged that I would descend. I would not, but 
passing along to the corner of the ledge, took hold of the 
end of the- tape and pulled. It was fast and did not yield 
to the strain. Another step, and I looked over into the 
urn or basin, over the edge of which it fluttered. There 
were two hags '/narhed "gold-'' lying there. 

" Somebody has taken a great deal of trouble here for 
nothing,'' I said, forcing a laugh and looking down at the 
mate who with a suddenly assumed braggadocio, asked 
" What is it ?" 

" I^othing here but some stones," I said, " and this 
cord tied around one of them." 

The fellow turned pale, covered his face with his hands 
and cried like a child. '' But let me look again," I ex- 
claimed, " What, gold by Jove — why, here's a discovery." 
Down went his hands in an instant. "What," he said 
" you say gold V 



108 THE STORY OF THE CHURCH TOWER. 

'' Two bags of it," I answered. 

" Let's divide and say nothing of it," he said, with a 
low cunning in his look. 

" Nothing of the kind," I said ; " these bags must go 
to the police authorities to be advertised for a claimant*" 

Two mechanics, a young and a middle aged man, just 
then turned the comer on the way to their morning work. 
" Hullo," said the elder, " Mister, what are you doing up 
there ?" 

" I want you to witness," I said, " that I now hand you 
from this receptacle two bags of gold which I have found 
here and will deliver to the captain of police. 

The men stared, as if they thought me crazy. " Gold !" 
they exclaimed. 

" He's mad," interrupted the mate. 

"Yes, gold," I answered; "here, catch this — careful 
now, there." 

The young man caught the bag, I threw the second to 
his companion, and in another moment let myself down 
upon the sidewalk. 

"Now," said I, addressing the workmen, "can you 
spare half an hour or so ?" 

The elder looked at the younger, they whispered to- 
gether a moment or two, and the former said, " Mister, 
there's something wrong in this matter ; if we can help to 
ferret it out, we're ready." 



THE STORY OF THE CHURCH TOWER. 109 

" Come along, then," I said, " and you, too, sir," ad- 
dressing the mate, " suppose you join us." 

" 'No I'm d — d if I do," he answered, looking doggedly 
at me and at the gold. 

" Then," said I, " it will be necessary for me to compel 
you to go with us." 

^' Compel, is it ?" he said with a devilish gleam in his 
eyes. '' Come, young sir, we might as well settle it first 
as last, and right here. You've cornered me, curse you ! 
and I'll have my revenge if I hang for it." 

I could see the sheen of a knife blade in the air above 
me. 

" Not so fast, my man," said the voice of my dear old 
friend Joe, and in another moment the mate lay sprawl- 
ing on his back. It was all the work of an instant. The 
knife flew out of his hand. He struggled desperately, 
but Joe and I held him, and with the aid of an officer, 
attracted by the disturbance, reconducted him to the cell 
which he had left but an hour before. The two mechan- 
ics preceded us, bearing the gold, and, leaving their names 
and address with the authorities, departed on their way 
again. 

" Joe," said I, ^' after we had got our prisoner safely 
under lock and key, " have you ever seen these bags of 
gold before ?" 

, He looked at them, looked at me, half puzzled yet 
happy. " I put them in the safe on Saturday evening," 



110 THE STOKY OF THE CHURCH TOWER. 

he answered. '* Here is the mate's name, as I myself 
printed it on each bag." 

" Mr. Clerk," I said, " I wish to make a charge of at- 
tempted murder against the man just brought in." 

He drew up an affidavit under my directions, and I 
signed it. " Now," I continued, " I want a search war- 
rant issued. A heavy robbery of money has been com- 
mitted. A portion of it is in those two bags. I have 
reason to believe that more is to be found in the premises 
to be searched." 

Another half hour found Joe, myself and an officer 
entering the dingy shop of the locksmith. He looked up 
as we came in, and growled out a surly " What do you 
want ?" 

" Pardon us for troubling you, sir," I said, " so early 
this morning, but we have reason to believe that stolen 
money is secreted here. Mr. Officer, produce your search 
warrant." 

The locksmith, evidently terrified, called out in a 
language which none of us understood, to some one in 
the back room. Quick as thought I sprang past him, 
and went in through the narrow doorway to a room which 
appeared to be devoted to the triple pui-poses of bed-room, 
dining room and kitchen. 

The same face I had seen bending in the lamp-light 
over the locksmith's shoulder met mine. It was that of 



THE STOKY OF THE CHUKCH TOWER. HI 

a young woman, neat in appearance, humble, even ob- 
sequious in manner. She approached me, and pointing 
to the bed whispered " There." 

I lifted the mattress. There were the two bags of my 
own gold and there was a small cash box. I lifted the 
lid. There was money in it. ^' Joe," I called out, 
'' come here." The officer remained in the shop with its 
proprietor. Have you ever seen this box before ?" I asked 
my friend. '^ Mirabile dictu^ George," he answered, 
throwing up his hands, "you've triumphed." 

I need not tell how the poor woman, an adopted child, 
or, perhaps rather, servant of the grim locksmith, told us 
all, and how in the narration she gloated in her revenge 
for long years of outrage ; how the mate and her master 
had concocted the scheme during the Sunday previous, 
basing the project upon their possession of the list of key 
words to the safe ; how on Sunday night they had gone 
out shortly after midnight, and returning an hour 
latter, brought with them the gold and the tin box ; how 
the sailor had at once departed with the two bags of specie, 
to conceal them, he said, and had returned at daylight, 
laughing at the hiding place he had cliosen ; how, on 
Monday, he had deposited two other bags of gold for 
safe-keeping with the cash box ; how he had returned 
that same night, quite tipsy, to quarrel with the lock- 
smith, and finally, how since that time he had not 
returned at all. 



112 THE STOKY OF THE CHUKCH TOWER. 

That evening, I remember, there was a snug little 
dinner for three set at my rooms. Joe occupied one seat, 
I the second, and Travis the third. But it was not until 
we had reached our wine and cigars that the first 
managed to narrate to the third what had happened and 
what the second had achieved in their mutual behalf. 
"Gentlemen," said I, "do not thank me; "thank the 
reporter who wrote the paragraph ' Jack Ashore.' " 



The Tragic Mews. — On Monday evening, while 
Jason and Creon were conducting an animated discus- 
sion upon the S Theatre stage, the audience was sur- 
prised by the apparition of a thomas-cat which, with 
crooked back, bristling hair, and elevated tail, dashed 
suddenly out at breakneck speed from behind the scenes, 
and crossing the stage, leaped off into the house and dis- 
appeared. Last night again the presence of pussy was 
perceptible, for from the upper gallery came, of a sudden, 
during the performance, feline cries of mingled hate and 
terror ; cries which told of an approaching collision ; cries 
succeeded by an intermingling of amorous squalls and 
caterwaulings ; very funny perhaps, but nevertheless 
very annoying to those who desired to observe the per- 
formance closely. 



SHAKSPEARE MODERNIZED. 



A' few days since a seedy loafer, who, despite his, 
blossoniy and tattered garb, showed faint traces of better 
days, was arraigned upon a charge of having stolen a 
hundred dollars from a miserly old man. The circum- 
stances of the theft and capture were too conclusive to 
admit of any denial on the part of the prisoner, who, 
to the surprise of all in the court room, put in a plea 
of *' guilty " in the following M^ords : 

Most sapient, shrewd and ever just recorder : 

Thou very knowing and astute official, 

That I have ta'en away this old man's.greenbacks 

It is most true ; true I have stolen them. 

The very liead and front of my regret is 

There were no more. Light am I of touch. 

And skilled in taking all within my reach. 

For since these claws of mine had five years pith 

Till six months come September, they have used 

Their dearest action in the Workhouse shop. 

But little on that subject can I speak 

More than pertains to meats of broil and stew, 

And therefore little shall I help my cause 

By speaking of myself. Yet, by your leave, 

I will a round unvarnished tale deliver 

Of my whole course of crime ; what thefts, what larcenies, 

What peculations, and what burglaries, 

( For such proceedings I am charged withal,) 

I won these greenbacks with. 



114 SHAKSPEAKE MODERNIZED. 



The old man knew me ; yes, he spotted me, 

And seemed to wonder what I was about, 

From day to day. The dodges, runs and hidings 

That I have had. 

I cheeked it through from when I first did see him. 

Even to the very moment when I robbed him, 

I knew 'twas courting most disastrous chances 

Of moving off in yonder Black Maria, 

Of hair cropped close, of prison coat and breeches, 

Of being taken by the insolvent jailor 

And put to labor. Yet, in spite of these. 

To steal that cash I seriously inclined ; 

But still the old man hovered round the spot, 

And ever as he'd turn his back to go, 

He'd come again, and with a greedy look 

Admire his treasured cash. Which I, observing, 

Took once a pliant hour, and found good means 

To snatch from him in haste the whole amount. 

Which he in packages had hoarded up, 

But not successfully. I then cleared out. 

And round a neighboring corner disappeared, 

Laughing the while at the successful stroke 

Which I had made. His money being gone, 

He gave me for my pains a world of search. 

He swore it was a shame, a devilish shame ; 

'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful. 

He wished he had not lost it, yet he wished 

By heaven that he could do the same ; he cursed me. 

And bade policemen, if they did but love him, 

To find the thief and bring his money back. 

And he'd reward them. On this offer, I, 

Grown daring by the dangers I had passed, 

Went straight to him to claim the recompense ; 

And hence, your Honor, here you see me now. 



THE IMP IN THE CLOCK. 



One nigiit as I slumbered, 'mid visions unnumbered, 

'Mid fantasies wierd and forlorn, 

While scenes ne'er enacted and dramas ne'er acted, 

In wondrous succession were born ; 

While imps grim, unsightly, who visit me nightly. 

Were hissing their oaths in my ear, 

I heard a low knock, as if from the clock 

That stood in the chimney-place near. 

I heard it again : " 'tis naught but the rain 

As it swiftly comes pattering down on the pane, 

Or the pendulum ticking," I cried ; 

But the only reply, in return to my cry, 

Was a knock in the clock at my side. 

Though fearful and trembling, yet, courage dissembling, 
I murmured in tremulous tone, 
" Be thou angel or devil ; good spirit or evil, 
I order thee hence to be gone." 

I shuddered with fear, for near to my ear. 
In spite of the rain drops without, I could hear 
A whisper as if from the dead. 
Harsh, hideous, hoarse, cold, cruel and cross. 
And telling of misery, woe and remorse. 
In slow, measured accents, it said 
" Come hither ; unlock the door of this clock. 
For here I'm a prisoner ; what, do you dread 
A poor little elf, of a size like myself, 
Confined in this old oaken clock on the shelf? 
I'd do you no ill, e'en had I the will, 
And I promise your utmost desires to fulfill." 



116 THE IMP IN" THE CLOCK. 



" Who are you ? " I cried. " Old Nick," he replied. 

" Some folks call me Satan ; the Devil beside, 
But come ; set me free, I beseech you, 
And treasures untold, both in jewels and gold, 
I'll give you for ever to have and to hold ; 
Their marvelous uses I'll teach you." 

" It sure were not wise, though great be the prize. 
To set free in one's presence, the father of lies ; 
But it doth not appear, and I pray you make clear. 
By what reason you chance to be prisoner here." 

" Oh no ! 'tis a secret that ne'er must be told ; 
But I'll give you a treasure more precious than gold : 
If you'll liberate me you shall never grow old ; 
Your blood in its coursings shall never flow cold ; 
You shall wear the gift of immortal bloom, 
Forgetful of misery, death and the gloom 
Which e'er broodeth over the walls of the tomb." 

" I know," replied I, " that ere long I must die ; 
The moments of lifetime are fast fleeting by, 
Their limit each hour bringeth nearer. 
E'en could I receive what you ofler to give. 
Do you think that forever on earth I would live 
While in Heaven rest those who are dearer ? " 

" I know of a maid, young, comely and staid. 
And radiant with beauty which never can fade ; 
With large, dreamy eyes of the tint of the skies, 
When the moon from her starry couch seemeth to rise. 
With lips of the rosiest hue ; 
And I swear by my head, be you living or dead, 
No mortal beside you this maiden shall wed — 
None other shall hold her than you." 



THE IMP IN THE CLOCK. 117 



" Ah ! once did I love one as pure as the dove, 
But now she is changed to an angel above ; 
Yet oft in the light of the still starry night, 
I see hov'ring o'er me her cherub-like sprite. 
And sad is her gaze as she chants the old lays 
We once sang together in erst happy days." 



" I have yet one treasure of worth beyond measure, 
A fountain of endless, delirious pleasure, 
A source of rare joy, unmixed with alloy. 
Whose potency nothing save death can destroy. 
It hushes all fears, it dries up all tears, 
And the ' Water of Life ' is the name that it bears 
See ! this shall be thine, this red, ruby wine. 
Possessed of a potency pure and divine." 

Then lo, and behold, a chalice of gold 
Bestudded with jewels, of workmanship old, 
Appeared in my hand and was raised to my lip. 
Fore'er be accursed that long fatal sip. 
'Twas luscious and tempting ; still deeper I drank, 
Yet no lower the wine in the gemmed chalice sank. 
But it sparkled and glittered and wooed me to drink, 
As I oft pressed my lips to its o'er brimming brink. 

But hark ! once again came that low single knock. 
It recalled me to senses. I turned to unlock. 
According to promise, the door of the clock. 
But lo ! it stood open — the goblin had gone. 
Though not e'er his errand of evil was done. 
For the cup is still mine, and the red ruby wine 
Still within it doth endlessly, fatally shine. 



BILOXI. 



Probably not one in a thonsand ever heard of even 
the name of the quiet, dreamy village which, with a 
population of about two thousand, lies slumbering on 
the Gulf Coast, shaded by wide-spreading oak trees, and 
knowing no greater excitement the year round than the 
daily arrival of the steamboat from New Orleans. And 
yet, to our people, Biloxi is a word suggestive of summer 
recreation, of freedom from care and business, of a luxu- 
rious indifference regarding apparel, of salt-baths, snipe 
and Spanish mackerel, sail-boats and snoozes. 

It is the oldest village on the coast. Here landed the 
Spanish adventurers and explorers, who, from Pensaeola, 
wandered in their frail boats along the coast, searching 
for that great river, the discovery of which is thrillingly 
portrayed to every possessor of a five-dollar National 
bank-note. Here dwell to this day descendants of that 
valiant race, but, alas ! most of them sadly degenerate, 
following the occupations of fishermen and boatmen, 
eking out a bare and scanty subsistence, devoid of any 
higher ambition than that of procuring their next day's 
dinner. Here, too, the French Creole element of Louis- 
iana and its vicinity constitutes a numerous and a better 
portion of the population. You hear fully as much 



BILOXI. 119 

Spanish (or Gascon) spoken as English, and as much 
French as both combined. There is an American streak 
in the community — a rising generation of tall, bold 
young men, who can aim a rifle or build and sail a boat 
as well as the best. There are churches, a public school, 
a Masonic hall, a market-place, one or two hotels, and 
any number of stores, where one may buy muslin or 
molasses, godly books, grindstones and gimlets. 

As the first landing was made in this vicinity by the 
Spaniards, so it was by the Federal troops in 1861, and 
probably this was the only occasion when poor, tranquil 
Biloxi ever came to be generally mentioned in the North- 
ern papers. I recollect that, early in the war, the New 
York Trihicne published an editorial, the gist of which 
was, that the stars and stripes were at that time flying in 
every State then in secession. Mississippi was in that 
article represented by Biloxi, whither Butler had dis- 
patched from Ship Island, about fifteen miles distant, a 
detachment of blue coats, who had landed and hoisted 
the United States flag over the court-house. The place 
was, however, only temporarily occupied, the New Or- 
leans expedition necessitating the troops' withdrawal. 

If you think it worth while, then, take a copy of Mit- 
chell's or Colton's atlas, and learn with me the where- 
abouts of this quaint old place. Leave New Orleans at 
nine o'clock in the morning by the Pontchartrain Rail- 
road, (the oldest in the country, and you would think so 



120 BILOXI. 

to travel over, it) and riding six miles througli city and 
swamp, alight at the end of a long pier jutting out into 
Lake Pontchartrain, a little inland sea, the opposite shores 
of which are hidden by the horizon. From this point de- 
part daily the Mobile steamers, and here, too, we iind 
awaiting us the Laura, elegant, spacious and fast, built 
after the fashion of the Hudson River boats, her cabins 
carpeted, gilded, mirrored, a Steinway piano in the ladies' 
saloon, and marble pier tables for card players in the 
forward cabin. Really, no finer, better appointed boat 
could be found than this same Laura. We pay three 
dollars for our eighty miles sail and dinner in the pros- 
pective. Twenty-five miles, rapidly passed, bring us to 
the Rigolets, the deep, narrow sound or channel, bor- 
dered by meadow swamps, and connecting the lake with 
the gulf. Here, amid miasma and mosquitoes, which the 
colored troops manage still to fight nobly, stands Fort 
Pike, its barbette guns frowning sullenly down upon us 
as we whirl by. Further on. Pearl River, a silver thread 
winding througli the green, empties its waters into the 
Rigolets, and far in the distance one may see, here and 
there, a snowy sail, rising as it were, out of the landscape. 
About this time the welcome sound of the dinner-bell 
summons every one down stairs to the after-cabin, where 
long tables flanked by w^hite aproned mulattoes, spread 
their attractive contents before appetites sharpened ])y the 
salt air. There is the usual clatter, tlie usual confusion, 



BILOXI. 



121 



the usual display of human nature in its best and worst 
phases, and then, lighting a cigar, we are up on deck 
again. The boat is now running along the open coast, dis- 
tance two or three miles. On the right the sea, the bound- 
less waste of water ; on the left a line of unbroken pine for- 
est, fringed with the whitest sand. Occasionally an island 
of an acre or two, an oasis of green grass, rises out of the 
w^ater. This little group are called the Mallieureuse Isles. 
Unhappy, indeed, must be he who even for an hour is 
exposed to their mosquitoes and mud. An hour more 
and the coast, hitherto I'unning due east and west, trends 
northward, and the broad bay of St. Louis opens to the 
sea. Here it was that two or three little cotton-clads 
bravely came forth to meet the Federal gunboats in 1862. 
But the unwonted echoes of the cannon long since died 
away, and looking at the pretty town of Shieldsborough, 
or "the Bay," as it is commonly called, skirting the 
western shore, one can hardly believe that grim-visaged war 
has ever invaded this quiet spot. It is about three o'clock 
in the afternoon as we come alongside a wharf, from a 
quarter to half a mile long. The water is very shallow, 
and the pier head nmst reach the channel. Here are 
scores of people awaiting our arrival, wives and sisters, 
and daughters — summer watering place denizens — who 
consider it a sacred duty to be at the wharf-head daily 
when the boat arrives, whether they expect their husbands, 



brothers, and fathers or not. 



There are chattering darkies. 



^ik-«)^W. -W^-:... ^-^.. 



-w^^r^m?^nr:^KSSisr~jr 



"x2 



122 BILOXI. 

country lioosiers, hotel agents, baggage carriers ; in short, 
representatives of the whole population, all looking on, 
scrutinizing each arrival, or asking the news from town. 
80 we leave them all and their pretty village behind. It 
boasts a weekly newspaper, a Convent, two good hotels, 
a Mayor and a Common Council, and has a population of 
about four thousand. Again we skirt the mainland, and 
six miles further reach Pass Christian, the most import- 
ant town on the coast. Here reside in summer time 
many of the New Orleans nabobs, whose villas line the 
shore for a distance of six miles. There is a college here, 
a Masonic Hall, an Episcopal and a Catholic church, a 
steam mill, a market house and stores ad lihitum. The 
resident population is much the same as that of Biloxi, 
whither we are voyaging. Ten miles further on a pier, 
nearly a mile in length, juts out into the Gulf, and we 
find ourselves at Mississippi City, a small place, yet im- 
portant as the County seat. Here is the court-house, the 
jail, the clerk's ofiice. Here at stated intervals, come 
quiet, long-headed, old-fashioned country judges to hold 
the sessions and decide between right and wrong. You 
may see on the walls in the court-room charcoal inscrip- 
tions made by the native soldiery in 1861. One, more 
ambitious than correct in his classics, has written : " Qui 
sum cognosces ex meg actionihus in futuToP Shades of 
Anthon, forgive him ! 

And now, we again turn our prow eastward, and just 



BILOXI. 123 

as the sun is setting, behold the glimmer from the Biloxi 
light-house. ]^ow the water is no longer shallow. We 
run close in to the shore, and the great waves from our 
paddles dash angrily under the village of bathing-houses, 
which, connected by little bridges with the land, stand at 
intervals of twenty feet along the water-front of the town. 
Before every place, too, there is a sail-boat at anchor, tell- 
ing of a people fond of the sea. 

At the landing may be seen a similar collection of ex- 
pectants, the mail-carrier waiting for his bags, the white 
dresses and blue veils fluttering a welcome to dear ones, 
the Gascons jabbering away outlandishly about trifles. 
The boat goes on to Ocean Springs, the terminus, a few 
miles beyond, and now here we are at Biloxi. 

The houses are small, mostly one story, the street, 
running along the water front, irregular in limits, and 
deep with white sand. Broad-spreading oaks are numer- 
ous, a board bench under each, and you may see many 
fences covered with seines hung out to dry. " Shady 
Grove House, sar — plenty fresh fish, fine clean bed, com- 
for'ble as you please," is the earnest address of an old 
darkey hotel runner. But we are not hotel goers. There 
is a neat rockaway awaiting us and our baggage, and in 
the space of two minutes by the watch we are riding 
along through the shady street toward the upper end of 
the village. Then come the piney woods beautiful in 
their evening stillness, l^ow we turn into a narrow lane. 



124 



BILOXI. 



enter a gateway, and alighting in a court-yard darkened 
by the thifck shade, are at oiir destination. 

This old place is worthy of more than a passing de- 
scription. It looks more like a Baronial chateau, or some 
old time country residence on the French sea-coast than 
an American homestead. It is only American in one 
sense at all events. Its owner and occupant, who lives 
here winter, and summer, is eighty years old, and com- 
manded one of the companies that repulsed Packenham's 
troops at Chalmette on the 23d of December, 1814, and 
the memorable 8th of January, 1815. He is hale and 
hearty, and besides that, independent of all care, having 
made a fortune in the cotton business in 'New Orleans. 
He is a genuine Creole, of French and Spanish descent, 
and can give you the history of New Orleans and its 
people, from the days of palisades and stockades up to date. 
He is an epicure, and on his dinner-table can offer you a 
repast equal to any of Victor's or Delmonico's. He never 
drinks water ; he says its is injurious to him. Claret is 
his mildest beverage, while upon his anciently carved 
sideboard you may have your choice of Absynthe, 
Maraschino, Curacoa, Sherry, Madeira or Alsopp. The 
plebeian whisky is a stranger here, but the absence is not 
felt. The house is a double two-story brick, facing the 
sea. You enter a broad gateway, and approach it by a 
bricked avenue, wide enough for the car of Juggernaut, 
with flower-beds and gras-plots on either side, and the 



BILOXI. 125 

never absent oaks, too. Step in upon the brick floor of 
this piazza, inclosed by a lattice reaching to the ceiling. 
Pass thence into a broad hall, running through the center 
of the house from front to rear. This is the dining-hall. 
The brick floor is brightly red, and clean as a frigate's 
quarter-deck. There is a broad liearth, suggestive of 
winter comfort, and the walls are hung with pictures pro- 
vocative of an appetite. Doorways of oak, high and 
broad, open off into rooms on either side. We return to 
the piazza, and at one end see a winding stairway, leading 
to the front gallery above. We ascend, and enter the 
parlor, where a gloriously-toned piano, engravings of the 
First IN^apoleon's career, a well stocked library, and 
family portraits, nearly a century old, tell of cultivated 
tastes and their enjoyment. Off from the parlors the 
same oak doorways lead to bed-rooms as luxuriously 
furnished as the boudoir of a princess. 

The grounds in the rear of the house are spacious. 
Yonder brick building is alloted to the kitchen and the 
servants. Further on half hidden by the tree-trunks, are 
the stables, the cattle-houses, the pigeon-house and fowl- 
yards. This little brick store-house, fitted up with shelves 
and drawers, is plentifully supplied with every kind of 
grocery, from pates defois gras down to sacks of coffee 
and barrels of flour. I^ear the main residence is a long, 
low building, divided into five bed-rooms, which are kept 
always ready for the reception of guests. Throw open 



126 BILOXI. 

the doors, which perhaps, have not been open for a month 
before, and yon find the room ready for jour occupation, 
even to the smallest minutiae of the toilet. There are 
libraries, lounges, and chess-boards here, all locked up 
awaifing the arrival of lucky guests. This is the 
bachelor's hall, or the garconiere as our host calls it, and 
here, wearied with our journey we fall to rest. 

It is four in the morning when the old gentleman, three 
times the age of any one of us, raps at the door, and tells 
us that the fish are biting well this morning. We rub 
our eyes, and find it difficult to realize how this aged man 
can rise so early all the year round, ride to the village, 
spend his five dollars at market, and be home again before 
we younger city people are even stirring. Well, we fish 
in the gray morning from the end of the bath-house wharf, 
and, as the sun rises, return with a string of sheephead 
for breakfast. We welcome the family, whom we had not 
seen the night before ; and sitting down in the portico of 
this old house built forty years ago, catch the cool morn- 
ing breeze coming from the sea, and listen to the surf 
breaking on the other side of Deer Island, a long narrow 
sandy strip, covered with pines and palmettos, and 
running parallel to the coast, three-quarters of a mile 
away. Later in the day we jump into a row boat, and are 
on the island, which boasting two or three frame dwellings 
and a light-house, is yet melancholy in its solitude. On 
the beach in the fine white sand, you may see the tracks 



of snipe and heron. At that little cabin, midway from 
shore to shore, you may buy goats' milk at a picayune a 
glass, or may see in the distance a great black dog dash- 
ing through the shoal water, and actually catching and 
eating the small fish. This is about all there is interest- 
ing on Deer Island, and we float homeward again with 
wind and tide. There are fowling pieces in the dining- 
room, and all the other equipments of a sportsman. Go 
back in the woods and you may bring home a mess of 
grasses or cailles, or, on the beach, and a lot of snipe, or, 
perchance, a Mallard duck, awaits your aim. Then there 
is a sail boat at your disposal, provided you are not timid 
of the squalls and thunder-storms which sweep these waters 
so suddenly and so often. 

In short, this is the spot where real enjoyment, real 
hospitality may be found. Think of eating for dessert a 
pineapple picked in the hot-house only an hour before, 
and flavored with the choicest white wine ; or of smacking 
your lips over sherry older than the house itself, and all 
this luxury in the country, far away from l^ew Orleans ; 
in fact, right in the piney woods. And then, when night 
comes, you may sit and smoke in the moonlight on the 
front piazza, looking out on the sea, and listen to the old 
traditions of the pirates who landed here, and of even the 
red men before them, until the figure of Lafitte seems to 
loom up on the beach before you, and you find yourself 
falling into a nap. 



THE MAPLE LEAF. 



A withered leaf fell from a maple tree 
That swaying, bowed beneath the autumn wind, 

Rustling the while its mournful memory 
Of summer's verdant glories left behind. 

On mother earth's fair bosom, damp with dew 
Of earliest morn, the leaflet, flutt'ring fell, 

Then, bounding off upon the breezes, flew 
Forever from the spot it loved so well. 

And, as through dell and woodland shade 'twas borne, 
O'er meadows green where murmuring streamlets flow, 

But one sad plaint went with it, all forlorn 
As with a shell, its seaside echoes go. 

Till, falling where a river, swift and wide 

Flowed on in silent grandeur to the sea, 
'Twas borne along upon the eddying tide 

Mid sunlit ripples dancing merrily. 

Forgotten then the still secluded glen 

Where grew the maple tree that gave it birth ; 

Forgotten all its plaintiff murmurs then ; 
Forgotten all save joyful gleeful mirth. 

Ah ! ye who from the home of childhood stray 
To wander o'er the stranger scenes of earth, 

Let not that first loved vision fade away. 
Forget not thus, in exile, all its worth. 



THE BLISS OF BOARDING. 



The everlasting bell rings yon up in the morning, pro- 
vided yon have been able to sleep through the racket 
created beforehand by noisy domestics ( unbleached ) who 
rush hither and thither, indulging in occasional refrains 
from Delahanty and Hengler, and illustrating the same by 
some scientific movements on the heel and toe in the hall. 
The boot-black officiates also as bell-ringer, and as he goes 
his rounds from door to door, with brush and box, lugs 
the bell with him, its random taps effectually barring 
sleep, and giving a foretaste of what is to come when the 
boot-black shall cast aside his menial implements and rise 
to the dignity of a bell-ringer. 

If the chambermaid, who, being comely, is, of course, 
worthless, has deigned to leave towels and fill your pitcher 
last evening, you may, as soon as the ding-dong has died 
away, rise and perform your ablutions. If, on the other 
hand, the delinquent fair has devoted too much of her 
time to coquetting with a gallant fair-laddie across the 
way, and has thus left your washstand forgotten, you 
must go unwashed ; for to raise the window and shriek 
at the top of your voice for a servant were worse than 



130 THE BLISS OF BOAKDING. 

useless, even though a dozen of them hear you calling. 
And even should one of them inadvertently pass your 
window, and receive your instructions, he goes oif 
promising to comply, yet that's the last of him. And 
what's the use complaining to the landlady ? Bless her, 
weak-minded woman as she is, do you suppose she has 
the slightest control over these strapping negro boys, who, 
by the way turn out in every Radical procession, and 
groan her when they march by the house ? 'No, indeed I 
Why only a few days ago they mutinied in a body, upon 
the occasion of the employment of a great black fellow as 
steward to oversee them, and presented their ultimatum • 
they would leave, or the new nigger must. Well, they 
had been there a good while, you know, and knew which 
of the boarders would put up with small pieces of beef or 
a cup of stale coffee; moreover, they waited for their 
wages longer than most servants would, so the old lady 
concluded to surrender at discretion, and the mutineers 
returned to duty. 

Well, you finally manage to reach the breakfast table, 
after serious misgivings that your fine tooth-comb has 
left one or two teeth in some kinky head during absence 
yesterday, and a gnawing suspicion that your tooth-brush 
has been similarly tampered with. But, in the solemnity 
of the ceremonies attendant upon the interment of break- 
fast, you relapse into a dreamy forgetfulness of the outer 
world, and its trivial annoyances. By most of your 



THE BLISS OF BOARDING. 131 

feliow-mourners a proper decorum, a touching apprecia- 
tion of the sad occasion is evinced. Few are there sacri 
ligious enough to break the impressive silence by raising 
their voices above a whisper. One gentle weeper mildly 
whispers to her spouse that, '' hash never did agree with 
her," and then timidly glances at her vis-a-vis, the 
Captain, a ferocious fellow with a mustache, who, what- 
ever may have been his exploits in the tented field, here 
displays a lamb-like submissiveness. Down near the far 
end sits an individual bearded like a pard, seedy in ap- 
pearance yet desperate in demeanor. He alone dares 
break the silence, and the serious family start with horror 
as he ejaculates : " Take away that d — d beef-steak and 
bring me something to eat." The landlady confidentially 
informs you that this individual owes her for three months' 
board, and she does wish she could get it ; that further- 
more he is out late every night, and invariably comes 
home tipsy, and worst of all, that he is suspected of Kadical- 
ism and has never publised a card denying it. 

"Wliat a horrible man ! And yet he don't seem to care, 
as he scatters devastation around him. Whole plates of 
biscuits disappear as quickly as under the magic wand 
of a Haselmayer, and enormous quantities of baked 
potatoes, hominy and coffee go down his throat in rapid 
succession, while his victim hostess indignantly watches 
his exploits from afar off". 

All boarding house inmates are classified into two kinds, 



the good paying genus and the delinquent genus. And 
yet, to belong to the former class does not always imply 
that your character will be safe from scandal, or that your 
reputation will pass unscathed through the gauntlet of 
jealousies or downright malice and slander in which your 
delightful companions or your landlady indulge. They 
will visit your room, borrow your things, chat with you 
confidentially about this one or that one, and presto — 
change — go off to report. The room of the jpasse widow, 
located somewhere off in the recess to the rear of the 
building, is the headquarters where all discoveries are 
regularly reported and recorded, and whence, in turn, 
they are retailed in small lots to suit the curious. Here, 
at early dawn and eve, the gossips assemble. Here come 
the nurses bearing the family secrets of their employers ; 
here, too, the children, who, being duly quizzed and 
cross-questioned, in their innocence afford valuable dis- 
closures regarding the price of mamma's new bonnet, 
or how late papa came home last night. The informa- 
tion once obtained is borne upon the wings of speed to 
the other inmates, and thus every one manages to keep 
tolerably posted in regard to every one else in the 
house. 

And perchance some day you come home feeling tired 
out, resolutely resolved upon an afternoon snooze at all 
hazards. Ah ! charming discovery ! the plasterers have 
taken possession, and, in compliance with directions from 



THE BLISS OF BOARDING. 133 

a beneficent and obliging landlord, are going to make the 
house "as good as new" inside and out. If you never 
swore before, you certainly will upon finding your only 
suit of black clothes, which you left hanging upon the 
door, thrown indiscriminately together under the 
mosquito-bar, and even then somewhat spotted with 
whitening ; your toilet table moved out into the hall, your 
brushes, combs, mirror and other paraphernalia hustled 
away somewhere ; your wash basin half full of lime, and 
your floor so bespattered that even to cross it is 
disagreeable. Two ladders have been hoisted, and upon 
the top of each, whistling and in a happy indifierence of 
having invaded your domestic sanctum, and dashed down 
your Lares and Penates, stands a paper-capped workman, 
who glances down at you as much as to say, " What do 
you want here ?" 



Passing through L Square, yesterday, one might 

have seen a happy old negro, seated upon the border of 
one of the grass plots, his back against a tree, his face up- 
turned, his mouth wide open, his eyes tight closed, asleep. 
By his side rested a saw, a buck and all the other lesser 
implements of the wood-sawyer's avocation, and above 
his venerable head, from off which the hat had fallen, 
hovered swarms of tantalizing flies and mosquitoes oc- 
casionally lighting on his nose, yet failing to disturb his 
slumbers. 



A LOCAL SKETCH IN VERSE. 



It was upon St. C Street, 

There stood a hungry wight, 
A seedy coat upon his back ; 
'Twas twelve o'clock at night, 
The last street car was rattling past, 
The rain was falling cold and fast. 

He stood before a window, 
'Twas filled with viands rare ; 
Poor devil ! — how he longed to taste 
Those dishes resting there ; 
For, save upon a crust of bread — 
That day the fellow had not fed. 



Roast beef was there in plenty. 

And flanked by fruits and fish, 

Were huge boiled hams and turkies fat. 

And many a tempting dish 

Collected from the earth or sea 

To tempt poor devils such as he 

Now, as he looked with longing 
Upon this varied store — 
" Thou art so near and yet so far," 
He murmured o'er and o'er. 
Fixing the while his gaze intent, 
Yet knowing that he'd not a cent. 



Within was heard the clatter 

Of fork and spoon and plate, 

As waiters bustled here and there, 

And men their victuals ate, 

They had no earthly thought about 

The fellow cold and wet without. 

He gazed another moment, 
Once more he glanced within — 
Then struck his empty pockets 
And eyed his trousers thin ; 
He felt as Cassar must have done 
When plunging in the Rubicon. 

Then with an air of boldness 
He opened wide the door. 
And, with the mien of millionaire 
Strode o'er the sanded floor. 
Then, at the counter, very cool, 
Sat down upon a velvet stool. 

*' Bring me a cup of coffee, 
With milk," he boldly cried— 

" And let me have a slice of duck, 
I much prefer outside ; 
And then, too, waiter, you can bring, 
Some bread, potatoes — anything." 

And as the waiter started, 
Again he called him back — 
" I'd quite forgot ; a turnip, with 
That slice of canvass back. 
And if you've any venison fat 
I don't mind having some of that. 



136 A LOCAL SKETCH IN YERSE. 



" And oh ! see here, please, waiter, 
Before you further go — 
Be sure that those potatoes 
Are nicely browned, you know." 
The waiter nodded, but a glance 
Upon the stranger cast, askance. 

But very little cared he, 
Though hungry, tired and wet. 
For all the waiter's glances. 
He eat, and eat, and eat, 
Until around him lay a heap 
Of empty dishes two rows deep. 

♦* Now bring me an Havana," 
He said in blandest tone, 

" A toothpick, too," he added, 
The waiter gave a groan. 
His seedy guest remained so long 
He half suspected something wrong. 

" Now, waiter, what's the damage?" 
" Three dollars and a half." 
" Why bless me, that's a trifle," 

He answered with a laugh, 
" Or would be had I funds — I meant. 

But, my good sir, I've not a cent." 

" What ! do you mean to tell me 
That all you've eaten here 
Shall not be paid for, mister ?" 

" That is the case, I fear," 
Replied the other — " I must say, 
I hav'nt got a sous marque." 



A LOCAL SKETCH IN VERSE. 137 



Then in a towering: passion 

Th' indignant waiter ran 

Upon the street and straightway called 

A Metropolitan, 

Who led him to the calaboose 

This diner upon duck and goose. 

And there incarcerated 

Within a dingy cell, 

He lay and slept full satisfied 

That he had dined so well. 

And so mid shouts and drunken screams 

Let's leave him to his prandial dreams. 



" Go in, and put on one of them armors," was the per- 
emptory mandate we heard given in passing the stage 
entrance to one of our theaters last evening. Don't you 
know what an armors is f The question was addressed 
by an inferior attache in his shirt-sleeves, to some ambi- 
tious youth whom he had recruited to serve as a warrior 
in the mimic battles of the evening. " No, what's armors 
anyhow," inquired the newly enlisted, evincing aught 
but that military respect for superiors, which is supposed 
to control the mail clad henchman. We didn't stop to 
listen further, but the training of that chap in rehearsal 
must have been rich. 



ON THE RIVER. 



An afternoon ramble on the levee, a quiet contempla- 
tion of the shipping, the boats, the city, the mighty stream 
silently rolling by, are not the least among the enjoyments 
which may be crowded into a leisure hour or two. And 
so it happened that on Sunday, as the sun began to go 
down into the west, we found ourselves strolling along 
the wharves, our attention about equally divided between 
the sights afloat and ashore. Now a little tug would go 
puffing by, making more commotion with her pipes and 
paddles than one ordinarily hears from an ocean steamer. 
On the other hand, a score or two of children, decked in 
holiday dress, came romping, laughing, past, closely fol- 
lowed by as many nurses, who had evidently taken ad- 
vantage of " Susan's Sunday out " to hold council over 
their common domestic grievances. Yonder lies, moored 
to the bulkhead, a great black hulk, silent and motionless, 
which but a week ago was buffeting the waves of the 
Atlantic, and here, on our left, comes scudding down 
before the wind a feminine craft, rigged out in gaudy 
colors, evidently bent on conquest. The cool evening 
breeze is blowing, and the atmosphere is clear and bracing. 



ox THE KIVER. 139 



We lean over the bulkhead, and watching abstractedly the 
muddy current, eddying past, fall to thinking. Our 
thoughts run up stream, though, and retrace these waters 
to their source, far up among the Western hills, where, 
bubbling from the earth, a thousands springs supply as 
many rivulets of cool, crystal water, pure as the life of 
man in infancy, and yet, like it, destined to mingle with 
baser elements. But it will mix with the waters of 
ocean and there be cleansed of its impurities ; it will flow 
through the dark caves where the coral insect is at work ; 
it will perchance lave the shores where the sands are 
golden, and where palm trees rise, or will float upon its 
bosom some towering iceberg, straying — 

'' All aboard for Carrollton " were the words which, 
uttered in a business-like voice, banished our musings and 
wound up the soliloquy. Looking up, we saw a boat, a 
large boat, her bow at the landing, a throng upon her deck, 
volumes of black smoke issuing from her pipes, and giving 
indications of immediate departure. There was but a 
moment to lose, but in that moment we jumped aboard, 
and found ourselves booked for Carrollton on the A. G. 
Brown. 

To find a comfortable seat on the hurricane deck, and 
to light a cigar, were the next steps to be taken, and then 
came the real comfort of the trip. There is but little op- 
portunity to observe the numbers around us, who, like 
ourseh^cs, have wandered for awhile from the city. There 



140 ON THE RIVER. 



is enough to do in watching the thousand-and-one objects 
that present themselves along the route. Here a party of 
adventurous boys, shouting and laughing, pass almost 
under our paddles, their skiff lifted like an egg-shell on 
the waves in our wake. Yonder, lies moored a flat-boat, 
just such as we have seen in that engraving of 
^' The Jolly Flatboatman." Now we pass the stock 
landing, and, looking up the broad green avenue, running 
back to the interior, can see it dotted here and there with 
horse-cars. There is a grain elevator below there, and 
above, standing out in relief against the leafy background, 
are the Louisiana Ice Works ; opposite, the twin towers of 
the Harvey House raay be discovered, a landmark familiar 
to fishing excursionists. The cool breeze of evening is 
blowing, and looking back at the city growing smaller in 
the distance, we inwardly thank our stars that we jumped 
aboard, and for awhile have bid adieu to terra firma. All 
along yonder bank, people are out enjoying the holiday, 
and appear to cast rather envious glances upon us as we pass. 
Here are moored whole acres of rafts, made of immense 
logs floated from the far-oif forests of the upper tribu- 
taries ; further on, a fleet of barges, laden to their fill 
with coal, destined at some time or another to pass up in 
smoke through the chimneys of this great city. And 
now we see the broad level meadows of Greenville, with 
here and there a clump of oaks, beneath the shade of 
which reposes some quiet home. Here, near the margin, 



ON THE KIVEE, 141 



embowered in a beautiful grove, stands the Sedgwick 
Hospital, and, on the little wharf before it, a knot of 
soldiers are gathered, smoking their pipes, and evidently 
hoping that there is no more fighting to be done. Below, 
on the boiler deck, a gang of lusty Africans are chattering 
away over their pot of steaming cofiee, the fragrant fumes 
of which come to us with no unpleasant reminders of 
bivouacs and early breakfasts, l^ow we are opposite 
CarroUton ; again the streets and squares assume a tan- 
gible shape, and in the distance the roof of the Court house 
and the spires of the churches may be seen. In a moment 
more, a dull thump and a stoppage of motion tell us that 
the boat has landed, and then, mingling with the throng 
and bidding adieu to reverie, we find ourselves once more 
ashore. There is a horse car just starting from the depot 
on the other side of the street. It is filled with people 
who have been rambling through the beautiful v/alks of 
the CarroUton gardens. But never mind ; there is always 
room for more, so we jump in and in half an hour are 
back again in the city, fully convinced that at least 
one Sunday afternoon has been pleasantly and profitably 
spent. 



THE REQUITAL. 



CANTO I. — THE SAD CHRISTMAS. 

'Twas in the twilight of a Christmas Eve 
That two fond hearts were parted. They had loved 
Each other long — if long, indeed, were years 
Through which young love grew stronger day by day, 
Making the months pass e'er more fleetly by. 
And yet within those hearts, through all these years 
There had been, oft , misgivings ; vague, 'tis true, 
Flitting athwart the sunlight of their lives, 
As on a showery day in balmy spring 
Dark shadows flit across a landscape green, 
And tinging o'er the hues of happy hours 
With a dim vapor of uncertainty ; 
E'en creeping in between each lover's kiss 
To steal away its sweetness from them both. 
But when, as oft, in puzzled mood they'd ask, 
" What is there that is lacking in our love V 
The undefined answer never came, 
And so they left the question in despair, 
Till their own hearts should ask it them again. 

His was a heart that ever knew unrest. 
From early boyhood, nothing had he known 
Save longing for some better thing beyond 
That which the present brought. In vain he strove 
To drown his restlessness in study, and 
Vainly had Pleasure wooed him to forget, 



THE REQUITAL. 143 



The ever present yearning for that Peace 
Which to unquiet natures such as his 
This world, alas ! can never, never give. 

But when, admired and courted by the world. 
Proud in her beauty, peerless as a queen, 
Yet with a calm sweet face that told of pure, 
Untarnished soul within, she came before 
His vision, 'twas to whisper to his heart, 
" Here is the rest which thou so long hast sought. 
Here the fulfillment of thy life-long dreams." 
Then, from that hour his very life was changed. 
Forsaken were his books, his revels then, 
A single purpose settled in his mind ; 
To win the heart, the life, the love of her 
Who thus unconsciously had promised Peace. 

It came. For on a starlit night in June 
While fireflies glimmered 'midst the leafy shade. 
Where they alone were seated, did he tell 
The story of his life, his hopes, his doubts. 
And forth from the recesses of his heart 
Came bubbling up, as clear as crystal drops 
The new resolves. 

Then with uplifted eyes, 
" Ah, Gerald," she had said, " I little thought 
That pity for your soul's unhappiness 
Would thus have grown to earnest, fondest love : 
At first 'twas but compassion that I knew, 
Yet, watching day by day your valiant strife. 
On my behalf to overcome yourself 
And be what you did think I'd have you be, 
I've longed to join in battle by your side : 
Compassion into purest love has changed ; 
Henceforth, my life, my love are only yours." 



144 THE EEQUITAL. 



Thus, as two children on a sunny day 
Meeting, 'midst flowers, join hands and wander on 
Together, weaving garlands as they go. 
To decorate their brief acquaintanceship, 
These two did wander through the summer hours. 
Each day, succeeding day, brought with it naught 
Save fresher wreathes with which to crown their hope. 
But oft concealed among the roses, thorns, 
So closely interwoven that in vain 
They sought to pluck them out, would madden Hope 
And tempt her to foreswear their votive boon^ 
Ah ! vague unrest — again he felt its power. 
At times he said she did not love him well. 
And she in tears would tell her love again — 
But, oft repeated, this a habit grew 
Until she had mistrust of her own heart, 
Fearing her love unable to withstand 
These most unjust suspicions. 

Thus it was 
That in the twilight of a Christmas Eve, 
The third that followed their bethrothal, she, 
Through eyes all tearful looked a sad " Good Night.'* 
And bade him gentler be when next they met ; 
While he, repenting of the cruel words 
To which exacting love had prompted him. 
Promised that with the morrow's festal dawn 
Should come a brighter sunrise o'er their hearts. 

That morrow's sunrise never came for them ; 
That Christmas day was drear and desolate ; 
For to him, strengthening the stern resolve 
To conquer his mistrust, a missive came, 
'Twas heavy with the ring he'd given her, 
'Twas written in her own familiar hand. 
" No longer," wrote she, " can my heart endure 



THE REQUITAL. 145 



These oft-recurring trials of its love ; 
'Twere better that we never meet again 
Than that the painful scene of yesterday 
Be re-enacted. May the God above 
Who knows our griefs, have pity on us both. 
Gerald, farewell." 

That morning he had sought 
And found a snow white lily which within 
The hothouse warmth to fullest bloom had grown. 
And this, that day he would have given her, 
An emblem of their happy days to come. 
But now — he crushed its petals in his grasp 
And, angry, ground them 'neath his foot, until 
Their fragrance rising told him all was o'er. 
He bowed his head and murmured, " But a dream." 



CANTO II. — THE LONG YEARS. 

Now all his passions long restrained, burst forth ; 

The Evil in him, which, but yesterday. 

He could have trampled down — nay, which he thought 

He had completely conquered, now rose up 

With giant strength, enthralled no more, and said, 

I am thy master, for no longer now 
The Good contests my sway." 

'Twas bitterly 
He did acknowledge this and yielded ; then 
Away was straightway harried to a life 
Of sin so dark that not a ray of good 
Its gloom could e'er illumine. Oft in vain 
Her image prayed him pause. Yet with it came 
Not Hope, so nothing recked he of the prayer. 
Tlien for long months upon the weary bed 



146 THE KEQUITAL. H 



Of pain he tossed, and o'er him hovered shades 

From Death's dark shore, yet still he thought of naught 

Save that great disappointment. Then, one day. 

As with returning life came new desires, 

And the determination that that life 

Should be a triumph over self, there came 

Another blow, more cruel than before. 

That heart and life which she had promised him, 

And him alone forever, were bestowed 

Upon another. But a year had passed, 

Yet had the wounds of separation healed, 

And she, with an unpitying hand, fore'er. 

Had closed the gates of possibility. 

That moment cast its shadow o'er his life. 
He blamed her not ; perhaps 'twas generous. 
Yet when the fiery storm of woe had passed. 
He could not find it in his heart to think 
Of her with aught save that same ardent love 
Which on the quiet starlit night in June 
He once had proffered her. 

Then far away 
To other scenes his fortunes carried him ; 
Yet with him went the ever present thought 
Of her. Then by degrees, with time there came 
Indifference. He wearied of the round 
Of dissipation and bethought himself 
T'were folly thus like prodigal, to waste 
The energies which God had given him. 
To waste them, and for what ? The loss of her 
Who knowing his dependence yet had cast 
Him from her cruelly ? Nor only this — 
He still had health, had mind, had his right arm 
Wherewith to cleave a pathway to success. 
Why then should this pale shadow intervene. 



More potent than a score of steel-clad foes ? 
" Delusive grief, thou shall not haunt me more ; 
Make way nor longer cumber up my path," 
He cried, and brandishing the sword of Will, 
Beat down the specter, and once more — was free. 
And meanwhile what of her ? She deeply felt 
The pain he suffered. She had known too well 
His ardent nature, not to be assured 
That separation brought a train of woes 
Unspeakable. Yet, on her bended knees 
She prayed for counsel, and in tears beheld 
The path of duty plainly pointed out. 
Once more compassion took the place of love. 
She watched his course of life yet stood aloof. 
Full sure that but a word of pity would 
But uselessly revive his quenched desire. 
She found she had not loved him, and recoiled 
From contemplation of the misery 
Which might have followed the discovery 
Too late of her mistake. It was regret, 
And not remorse that she experienced 
In thinking o'er the grief which she had wrought. 
Society, pretending sympathy. 
Once more environed her with flatteries, 
And wooed her once again to its delights. 
With aching heart she followed the behest, 
Yet looked with coldness on her flatterers, 
And longed the while for thoughtful solitude. 

One day there came a missive. It was signed 
With Gerald's name. 'Twas he had written it. 
Returning from a night of revelry ; 
And these the words that he addressed to her : 

" Ah, why did I ever dare doubt you? 

Forever I'm grieving about you ; 



I cannot be happy without you. 

Come back to me, darlinor, I pray ; 

Come back to me, dearest, 

Oh, why should the merest 

Coventional trifle 

Thus endlessly stifle 

The love which I know 

Is lurking below 

In the innermost part 

Of your once tender heart ?" 
Hot tears bedewed the paper as she read, 
"Oh Gerald, Gerald," sadly murmured she, 
" God be the judge between us." 

Then with time 
And the solicitations of the world 
She yielded up her hand, perchance her heart, 
To one who gave her home and happiness. 
Domestic cares and duties dulled the edge 
Of memory, yet once she told to him, 
The partner of her life, the history 
Of that mistaken love, and he in turn. 
With tenderness had bade her dry her tears 
And think of it no more. 

His bidding was 
Her law, his wish her own ; and thus it was 
That faded fast thenceforth from out her soul 
The vision of that starlit night in June, 
And of that tearful twilight Christmas Eve, 
The Alpha and Omega of a love. 
In course of time, about her children played ; 
And often looking in their faces fair, 
With all a mother's tenderness, she'd pray 
Their future lives had not in store for them 
A trial such as that which she had passed. 



t 

i! 



IT 



. \ 



CANTO III. — THE MEBRY CHRISTMAS. 

And Gerald, too, in that far distant clime. 

Subduing, not forgeting his regret, 

Had found a fond companion of his life. 

And happy in a wife's and children's love 

Was plodding on, a sober, earnest man. 

Through all these years not once had he beheld 

The dear old home wliere childhood's scenes were laid. 

And oft a longing heartfelt, aye intense, 

Stole o'er him to revisit that loved spot 

And bringing with him to his parents' side 

The rosy featured idols of his heart, 

Say — " See the treasures God has given me." 

And with the thought, there came another. 'Twas 

The wish that she who once had cast him oflT 

Perchance in misery and gloom to die, 

Might know his triumph. 

And within his heart 
This constant fixed assurance ever dwelt, 
That surely as the sun did shine in Heaven, 
Their tearful parting ou that Christmas Eve 
Was not their last. That they would meet again, 
And make their peace, he was as certain as 
He was that she had once possessed his love. 
Seas might divide, or death might threaten them — 
'Twas naught. They yet sometime should meet again. 

And thus it came that on an April day. 

And at the hour of sunset, Gerald stood 

With folded arms and thoughtful brow, erect 

Upon a vessel entering the bay. 

Whose waters laved the spot where he was born. 

With beating heart he saw once more the home 



150 THE REQUITAL, 



Wherein Ms childhood passed, the trees, the spires, . 
And all the thousand objects long forgot. 
Yet now familiar to his memory. 
A tear unbidden trickled down his cheek. 
As of his heart he asked inquiringly. 
Why he had ever left a scene so dear ; 
Then all at once he spied a snowy sail, 
And then another — and another, still, 
Go flitting by athwart the vessels prow, 
A little tiny fleet of pleasure boats. 
Each laden with its freight of joyous souls, 
While ever and anon across the tide, 
Glassy and placid 'neath the setting sun 

Was heard the grateful harmony of song , 

Or childish laughter borne upon the air. | 

But e'en as Gerald gazed, a piercing scream, { 

A wail of agony unspeakable 

Came mingled with the mirth and melody. j 

" Great God, have mercy," 'twas a mother's prayer. 
She sees her darling, fair-haired, first-born child 
With arms outstretched for succor, disappear 
Beneath the wave ; all this, too, Gerald saw, 
" God give me strength," he murmured inwardly, 
" By this redeeming action to efface 
The Evil of the Past." Then, quick as thought 
Sprang bravely over the taffrail ; 'neath the wave 
An instant disappeared, then rising, pressed 
With sturdy strokes toward the very spot 
Where last the golden ringlets of the child 
Had vanished. 

Look ! again the little hands 
Arise to pray for rescue, and again 
Go down. Ah, God — 'tis vain, too late, too late I 
Now, Gerald give fresh impulse to thine arm. 



THE REQUITAL. 151 



A second now were worth a score of years. 

There — there — he's reached the spot, and disappears 

Again, but quickly rises — God be praised, 

The child is saved. Its dripping ringlets fall 

Upon his shoulder, and its pallid face 

Upturned toward the setting sun, doth yet 

Give hope of life within. A moment more, 

And weary, yet triumphant, Gerald stood 

Upon the sailboat's narrow deck, his arms 

Outstretched to give the mother back her own. 

He lifted up his eyes and, in the glance, 

Encountered hers — those same, sad, thoughtful eyes 

Which on that ne'er forgotten Christmas Eve 

Long years before - ( it seemed but yesterday,) 

Had bid him be more kind when next they met. 

She did not shun the glance. She only knew 

That he, as one who cometh from the dead, 

Had come to save her well-beloved one. 

" Oh, bless you ! bless you, Gerald ! God will give 

His recompense for this good deed of yours," 

She said, and clasped the now reviving child 

To her fond mother's heart. 

Her words to him 
Were full repayment for the weary days 
Of anguish and regret. He kissed the child, 
( His heart was then o'er full for utterance,) 
And bowed his head in grateful reveries. 

Another scene and all the tale is told, 

A score of years have come and lived, and gone 

'Tis Christmas Eve again, and merrily 

The vesper chimes come tinkling on the air 

From out the belfry, joyous messengers 

Of peace and God's good will to all on earth. 




They found an echo in two happy hearts, 
A manly bridegroom and a maiden fair. 
Who kneeling at the chancel steps before 
The altar, heard the holy man of God 
Pronounce the benediction on their love : 
" Whom God hath joined together let no man 
Dare put asunder," and the solemn words 
Re-echoed from the dark'ning walls and aisles. 
Acquiring thence a new solemnity. 
Within the shadow of the lecturn knelt 
Gerald. His locks were faintly tinged with gray 
And o'er his face the furrow-marks of Time 
Had crept, though stealthily. There, by his side, 
A matron, fair as the Madonna, knelt, 
Her eyes uplifted, and her countenance 
All radiant with rays of heavenly light. 
Before them kneeled the idols of their hearts ; 
His rosy-featured boy to manhood grown ; 
Her fair-haired daughter grown to womanhood, 
And on their brows the light of happy love, 
Of pure devotion shone. Yet not more pure 
Than that which sanctified the hearts of those. 
Their parents, who upon tiie Christmas Eve 
Long years before had parted, and in tears. 
" Ah, Gerald," whispered she with tenderness, 
" This moment brings requital for the past. 
That oneness God long since denied to us 
He gives to ours, and thus once more unites 
Our hearts." Then Gerald fixed his gaze 
Upon that face — it still was dear to him, 
And murmured " Peace at last ! a perfect peace. 
Our God in Heaven doeth all things well." 



INDEX. 



The Halcyon's Return 5 

Sub Ulmis 5(5 

My Castles 57 

The Voudoux and their Charms 58 

"Merry Christmas"* 61 

The Carpet-Bagger's Soliloquy C2 

An Audience in theDark 63 

''Oh ! Perfectly Sober" 65 

To a Child Waking from Sleep 66 

An Acrostic 6T 

Sophronissima ; or, the Vagrom's Comprehension 68 

Over the Seas 76 

A Louisiana Bayou Scene 77 

Thomas Cat in Trouble 84 

The Story of the Church Tower 86 

The Tragic Mews 112 

Shakspeare Modernized 113 

The Imp in the Clock 115 

Biloxi 118 

The Maple Leaf 128 

The Bliss of Boarding 129 

A Local Sketch in Verse 134 

On the River -. . . 138 

The Requital 142 



JUN 14 1906 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



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